


Swingsets

by lollercakes



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Depression, F/M, Fire, Sexual Content, Survival
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-21
Updated: 2012-09-02
Packaged: 2017-11-08 05:43:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 37
Words: 134,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/439785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lollercakes/pseuds/lollercakes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I found out after that there are worse things than being Reaped. Worse than dying in the Arena trying to save the one you love. They don't tell you that the worst thing is to live after. It's not simple for a Victor. It's never that simple.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One: The Aftermath

For a time, I thought the worst thing that could happen was that I’d be Reaped.

And then it happened.

And then I thought that the worst thing that could happen was that I’d die in the Arena before I could ensure Katniss’ survival.

But she didn’t die.

And neither did I.

I found out after that there are worse things than being Reaped. Worse than dying in the Arena trying to save the one you love.

They don’t tell you that the worst thing is to live after.

To keep breathing.

To dream.

To watch the girl you love desperately disengage and disappear.

To realize it was all a show.

It is worse than being Reaped. Than dying.

And still I live on.

Still trying to figure out what the next worst thing will be.


	2. Chapter 2

I haven’t slept since I came back.

Well, since I left the train. Who could blame me though? The images I see when I go to sleep at night are not of sunsets and frosting like they used to be. Now they’re scarred and fractured, pulling my breath from my lungs and tempting me down into violent fits that force me to tumble from my sheets and remember my worst wound.

Every time I wake up I’m reminded that my leg is gone. I’m usually on the floor, which presents a difficult challenge in itself, but the pain of the invisible limb presses back and I can’t help but mourn my own body part. It’s pathetic.

I’m tempted to sleep with the metal replacement on, just so the shock is easier to handle every time I wake.

But it pinches in all the wrong places and it’s heavy and there’s no way for me to sleep on my side with it attached because it pulls and rips on its fastenings.

I just want my leg back – is that too much to ask?

I guess when you add it up with all the other things I’ve asked for, it kind of is.

Katniss, the past few weeks back, my dysfunctional family, Katniss, my best friend Delly, a solid night of sleep. Maybe Katniss.

Really. I don’t want for much.

Ever since I was Reaped in the 74th Hunger Games nothing has gone anywhere close to expected. I was Reaped, as in sent to my sure death, alongside the love of my life who’d _volunteered_ for her sister. In order to survive, I would have had to kill her. I’d rather die myself, and I’d tried – boy had I tried – but in the end we’d both survived. Both of us. It was unprecedented and the Capitol was less than happy. Still is less than happy. Furious even.

In the Arena I’d worked my ass off to save her. I’d declared my love for her, openly to all of Panem, and then it had _almost_ seemed as though she loved me back. It was probably the delirium from my leg. My poor fucking leg.

It had all been a game, though. The purest form of the Hunger Games – taking everything from you and then some all the while spitting you back out (if you were _lucky_ ). The Games are like an owl and you’re the mouse. They sweep down every so often, grab up unsuspecting victims, and then shit out the remnants. 

We’d survived, yes, but coming home hadn’t been a relief. I knew as we disembarked from the train that there would be nothing here for me in District 12.

Katniss had told me as much. Katniss and I, we’d parted our separate ways after the train ride home. It wasn’t mutual, the disconnect. Not by a long shot on my part. We’d only kept up the charade for the cameras that pressed in like rabid animals.

My family wasn’t at the station waiting for my return either. I think my mother must have forbidden it. I wasn’t much surprised by my brothers – I was always the runt of the lot – but my father... I thought he would have been proud. I guess not. It was probably that Katniss was a Seam girl and my mother always lost it around the Seam kids. Or she just had hoped I’d die in the Arena.

Even Haymitch had disappeared without a word from the platform landing.

I’d had to find my way to my Victor’s house alone with a shoddy piece of paper telling me its address and an envelope with a key. I’d left my bag at the station, unable to carry it with my wobbling step on the cobblestone roads and a cane in my hand. I didn’t need it anyways; my house was already fit to live in.

 

 

 

I’m sitting now on the swing set in the park just outside the Square. It’s the middle of the night but the air is cool and the dark is welcoming as I grip the chains and lean back. I’m twisting in the breeze and I can see a few candles burning in the windows above the shops.

The festivities for our return will start tomorrow and I’ll be roped into sitting at banquets and smiling for the never ending press. I’ll be seated with Katniss and Haymitch and will have to put on a good face. It will be torture. And it’ll still be lonely being surrounded by so many people.  

I use my good leg to spin me left. Spin me right. The chains lock overhead and clink against the quiet.

It’s peaceful and innocent here. I can remember the times I spent as a child, playing on these swings with Delly. It’s a good memory. I miss those moments.

When the chain finally untangles I push my feet (foot) into the sand and force myself up into the air, swinging back and forth. I feel free. I feel weightless.

And then I feel like I’m falling. My body has lost its balance on the swing with the weight of the metal and I’m falling back with my head and shoulders hitting the sand below me as my feet topple overhead. I’m staring motionless at the night sky as I realize that I can’t even swing like I once did. Even that innocence has been taken from me.

Apparently there is no part of a Tribute that is left unscathed when they become a Victor.

They never tell you that when they talk about the Reapings. I should have realized it anytime I saw Haymitch. I hadn’t.

After a while, I crawl onto my knees and push myself to my feet (foot), brushing the sand from my pants and shirt. I make to head home and halfway there realize that there’s sand in my joint. It’s rubbing and scratching against the fresh skin and it burns like fire.

I want it off. Need it off.

But I can’t or I won’t get home.

I grit my teeth and make do with the pain as I quicken my pace, each step grinding my flesh. I stumble through the door to my house, remove my pants and then my metal leg and collapse on the couch in my boxers. The leather is cold against my lower half and I watch as the skin rises in gooseflesh. There used to be hair on my legs. They took that too. 

 

 

 

It’s morning, late morning, before I make my way up to my bathroom to shower. The long distance between the living room and the upstairs bath reminds me that these houses were built for multiple people. As though they thought Victor’s could ‘reconnect’ with others when they came home to build a family and a life. What a joke.

I clean carefully at the stub of my leg while I balance on my good one. The skin is raw to the touch from the walk home and it stings with the soap.

I want to cry like a child. I am just a child.

When it’s over I replace the metal component and finish with my shower, stepping out to air dry as I walk through my house. Living alone has one benefit – I don’t have to get dressed if I don’t want to. There’s a cheerful thought.

I collapse onto my bed, bare as the day I was born, as the exhaustion seems to overtake me. I’m tired. More tired than I’ve ever been. But every time I close my eyes all I can see is Cato and his sick hands around Katniss’ throat. My eyes open again with the mental image and I see Katniss standing in the doorway.

It’s an illusion. It’s from the lack of sleep. I’m dreaming awake.

She’s staring. I can’t help but grin in return – this dream I can live with.

Her eyebrows shoot up and she spins around, her back turning to me as a feeling of discomfort fills me.

“Peeta, we’ve got that thing at noon. I think you should put on some pants.” Her voice is choked and suddenly my face is burning. This isn’t a dream. I groan to myself and want to tell her to piss off. That I’m too tired and feeling pitiful. That it hurts to walk with the sand and... I’m just being whiny.

When did I get so wretched?

“Okay, Katniss. I’ll meet you downstairs.” I call out from my place on the bed. I intend to lay here for at least another ten minutes before I move any part of myself.

I get five before she’s back at my door, her eyes covered by her hand and a scowl on her face.

“Why are you still naked? We have to go.” I push myself reluctantly to my feet and hobble over to the dresser that holds my well-stocked attire.

“Yeah alright, _Effie_.” I spit the word out as though it’s dirty in my mouth. I don’t want to be nice Peeta today. I don’t want to be Peeta today, in all honesty. She huffs out and steps heavily down the hall, waiting at the top of the stairs.

I pull on a pair of slacks and a button down shirt. The items are soft against my skin and I thank Portia silently. She remembered which fabrics I liked best. She remembered me after the Games ended.

Stepping out of my room I meet Katniss at the staircase where she’s leaning heavily against the banister. Her eyes have bags under them and her posture looks tired. I know this look. She isn’t sleeping well either. But her skin is more tanned than it used to be. She’s hunting again.

I’m jealous that she’s adjusting better than myself. It only lasts a moment.

I meet her eyes carefully and she stares back. I see in my periphery her hand reach towards me before snapping back to its home in her pocket. I frown and turn, heading down the stairs before her. I can’t cling to that game.

We make our way in silence towards the Justice Building where we’re briefed by the mayor on the upcoming celebrations. I nod my way through the meeting, uncaring of what will be happening in reality. I’ll wing it.

Afterwards I go through the motions of signing the appropriate documents and formalizing my property ownership. I only knew to do it because Katniss mentioned it during the meeting. Nobody had told me there was paperwork to being a Victor.

When I exit the building Katniss is waiting on the step. Her hair is shining in its braid from the sun and little wisps are loosely flying about her face. I long to reach out and settle them behind her ears but I resist. Those motions aren’t welcomed, I’m sure.

“You look tired, Peeta.” Her voice is concerned as she keeps her distance from me. I don’t want a lecture today.

“I can say the same about you, m’dear.” I respond as I brush by her. She doesn’t follow. It’s better this way.

I walk home only tripping up once on the uneven stones before I lock myself in. The banquet is tonight. Parcel Day tomorrow. Then I can stop pretending I’m happy for a while – at least until the Victory Tour.

 

 

 

I’m drunk.

There’s no delicate way to say how much of an asshole I’ve been for the past four hours. But I know I have been. You know it’s bad when even Haymitch is bothered.

I’d gone to the banquet on time and in my assigned outfit without much prodding. You’d think that I was actually looking forward to it, with all the eagerness I put on for display. The cameras loved it. I know they did.

But then my family hadn’t bothered to arrive. And Katniss had been distant while wearing a stunning golden red dress that Cinna had created just for her. And the drinks had been free and flowing and I couldn’t help the exhaustion that was drawing me to the feeling of just being light and whimsy. I still hadn’t slept. Maybe that contributed to my poor decisions. Maybe.

Sitting at the table I’d tucked myself in next to Katniss to enjoy a relatively mundane conversation with Madge Undersee. We’d never exactly been friends, despite her being from town. It was odd now, I thought, the attention that I got. We revolved around the details of Katniss’ sister, Prim, and how Katniss herself was adjusting back into daily life in District 12.

I’d finished my third drink before I’d contributed anything to the discussion and by then, nothing nice was coming past my lips. Instead it was a bitter quip about “fitting right back in” and “getting close to her _cousins_ again”. From the outside looking back, even I wanted to put a boot down my throat.

But I hadn’t stopped there. I’d moved around the table lacing everyone with the details of my dreams and sharing the images of my nightmares while they ate their dinner. I was using my skills with words as weapons against them all, reminding them in a desperate fervor at how wrong this all was.

If I hadn’t been one of the guests of honour, I probably would have been removed before the salads were complete. Hell, probably before cocktail hour had finished.

Halfway through the dessert it seemed that I had reached my quota of insults. I’d been holding the rock glass tight in my palm as I blearily reminded Mrs. Undersee about how next year was the Quarter Quell. I hadn’t remembered her sister who’d died in the last Quarter Quell.

Haymitch had pushed me out the back door himself, hand on my collar and rage barely covered. For once, he was more sober than I was. And I was thankful.

I was ashamed.

I’d made my way out to the old swing set and settled my ass in the seat as the cool air nipped at my leg. My dress pants had ridden up slightly against the rubber of the sling and I could look down and see the contrast of skin and metal. Disgusting.

I started to rock myself slowly back and forth, afraid to try a real swing like I had before. Afraid of ending up crunched on my back in the sand again. Even this joyful spot had been tarnished. I pushed with my legs a little harder as the alcohol burned through my veins.

I began to fade quickly in the dark, my head resting against the cold chain as I rocked myself into a light sleep. It was strangely soothing, this familiar motion.

“Peeta?” Her voice was like a spark on my spine as I looked over and watched Delly Cartwright walk through the park. I hadn’t seen her since the Reaping and she was thinner than she was before. Her hair was pulled back off her face making her cheekbones stand out. She was obviously happy, but I could see the hint of concern in her brow as the light above caught on her face.

Dear Delly. My best friend. She hadn’t received me at the train either.

I grinned lopsided at her, the liquor still making me a little wobbly. She made a motion towards me to hug me, I think, but I pushed back, keeping my light swinging pattern. It didn’t faze her as she joined me in the other swing. She matched my pace in silence.

It was comforting.

“I’m sorry I didn’t welcome you back, Peeta. I wanted to but my mom-“

“Don’t worry about it. You weren’t the only one.” I interrupted. I really didn’t care for apologies right now. I caught her falter out of the corner of my eye as a tentative quiet filled the air.

“Why are you out here?” She recovered her kind tone and pushed her swing a little further into the air. I was jealous.

“I needed some air.” The boy with the words was short on supply tonight. “Why are you here, don’t you have school in the morning?”

“Don’t you?” I shook my head. Victor’s didn’t have to finish school, free pass to adulthood and all. Her nod of acknowledgement was all she had. “I saw you out here from my window. I wanted to see how you were doing...”

Delly had always been nice. Always a smile on her face and a kind word for everyone. She was my best friend. At least, she had been. Something had changed that while I was in the Arena. Something had changed everything, I guess.

“I’m fine. Made it back alive, didn’t I?” I tried not to sound bitter. Tried not to sound lonely. I knew she could sense that I wasn’t the old Peeta – there’s no way she couldn’t notice the change. She pulled up short on her swing and stuttered her feet on the ground as she stopped.

“Why aren’t you swinging high? You always love jumping off.” I scoffed at her question – did she even watch the Games? I couldn’t help but throw her a scowl as I lifted my pant leg to expose the metal.

“I fall off balance if I go to high. Almost killed myself already.” I kicked the pant leg out and returned to my controlled rocking motion. She stood with her hands on her hips in front of me. There was a determined look on her face and she took a step forward.

“Well maybe you just need to balance it out better?” She took another step towards me and swung her leg over my hip, straddling me as she sat on my knees. We were nearly nose to nose and I was reminded of when we were kids and we used to ride tandem on the swings all the time.

There was something different here. Maybe it was the alcohol.

I felt her thighs tighten around my torso as she pushed her feet into the ground, moving us into a low swinging motion. I wasn’t sure which way to move as my hands clung to the chain for dear life. If we fell, I’d most likely break something else. There was no hospital here in 12.

We swung back and she pushed off again harder as I felt our chests collide. I swung my legs tentatively to get more momentum and we didn’t fall. We were soaring. There was a wave of giddiness that ripped through my chest as we moved together in the air like we had as kids. It was familiar and it was happy and it was... exciting. I aptly became more aware of her pressed tightly against me as her thighs clenched and unclenched around me.

This was new. I wrapped my arms around her as she maintained her hold on the chains. I laid my head onto her shoulder as her laughter was floating around us, my mood lifting considerably. It was only then that I could feel myself hardening against her as the fresh scent of her soap enveloped me. I didn’t care.

“Peeta?”

The mood was broken. She could feel me against her and she was slowing her swinging to a near stop. I didn’t want to stop. I wanted to keep the feeling of her pressing against me, of the happiness, for a little longer. I was desperate for this. I clutched her body close to mine and pressed my lips to her neck.

“Please don’t,” I didn’t want her to leave me now, too. Inadvertently I rubbed my hips into hers and pushed my feet into the sand, resuming my gentle pace from before. I could feel her body slowly relaxing into mine again as she resumed her movements. They were less hurried this time, more intently aware than before.

We settled into a smooth pace as she pushed herself flush against me to reach the sand below. I returned the movements, pressing up, rubbing up, against her while keeping my feet flat on the ground. It felt good. There was a friction and a heat radiating from her that made me just want to release myself from my slacks and pull aside her playful dress.

But I didn’t.

There wasn’t a real love here. It was a need. A need to feel something other than miserable. I hadn’t let myself feel like this in weeks and it was drowning me.

My hips began to push up into hers frantically as my mouth tongued its way across her collarbone and up her neck. She returned the motions, a small pant and moan combination against my ear as she released the chains and gripped my shoulders. 

Our movements became urgent as the swinging motion slowed to a halt and it became a war of pushing against each other, seeking the friction that would throw us over. I ran a careful hand down her side and to her core, feeling the heat and the wetness that I’d caused. My hips jutted faster against hers as I gasped and lightly bit down on her shoulder, my body tensing as I found my release. Moving my hand purposely I listened to her sounds and pulled her over the edge with me.

Slowly, as we sat together on the swing, I pushed into the sand and began to rock us together again, placing a small kiss on her forehead.

I felt guilty. I wasn’t in love with Delly. Sure, I loved her, as a friend – I always would – but it wasn’t the same as what I felt for Katniss. And I’d just used Delly like she was less than a person. Like she was a means instead of an ends. I was an asshole.

As she slowly returned to awareness I felt her gentle hand on my cheek. I lifted my head from her shoulder to meet her eyes in the darkness, ashamed of myself.

“I know you’re in a bad place Peeta, but we shouldn’t do this again.” I nodded, frowning up at her on my lap. “I’m with Acer now, you know?” I hadn’t known. It had happened while I was in the Arena.

“I’m sorry, Delly. I didn’t mean-“ She placed her fingers against my lips to shush me.

“It’s alright. I’m your best friend, Peeta, I want to help you. But this isn’t the way.”  I closed my eyes and took a breath. What was I _doing_? I felt her lift off my lap and watched as she straightened her skirt down her legs. There was an unsettled quiet that filled the air around us as our eyes met again. I nodded again, having lost my words as she stood before me.

“I’ll see you soon Peeta. You should go home and get some sleep.” And then she was gone, her steps quick as she made her way back home.

I pushed my feet (foot) into the sand again, sinking them below the surface. They were drowning, just like me.


	3. Chapter 3

I feel like a bag of shit. My head is rocking and the side of me that’s currently huddled on the floor is throbbing on the unforgiving cement.

I must have passed out from exhaustion after my shower. At least, that’s the only explanation I can give as to why I’m laying in my pyjama pants on the floor at the foot of my clay stove with the embers of a fire burning within.

It’s warm here. Like a body radiating heat beside me. It’s comforting. Maybe that’s why I got almost two full hours of sleep before the dreams pulled me back with their screams.

The early morning light is filtering through the windows as the day begins to break.

Parcel Day.

This is the day that makes being a Victor almost worth it – the day where everyone in the District will be guaranteed to be free from starvation for just a little while longer. Each month for the rest of the year parcels will be delivered to every family in the District filled with food rations and supplies to make their life a little easier.

For District 12, these parcels will be a lifeline for many families.

It is a day worth celebrating. But I don’t really want to get up. Not honestly. They’ll do better with Katniss and Haymitch leading the presentations and celebrations for the day. I’ll just stay here. It’s nice here.

When I struggle out of another dream I realize that it wasn’t just the dream waking me up. Haymitch is sitting at my kitchen table turning through the pages of the sketchbook that I’d worked on during the train ride home. I know it’s filled with the Arena. I couldn’t help it.

I want to disappear into the floorboards as I remember I’m still half-naked on the floor in my kitchen. Who _does_ this? I groan quietly to myself as I lift carefully to my knees (knee) and pull my body closer to the metal appendage I’d tossed across the room in a fit last night.

Haymitch looks up from my book and moves quickly to help, his hands reaching the device before mine as he comes to my side. I flop onto my ass and pull my pant leg up to put the leg back on. There’s a hint of pity or sadness that crosses Haymitch’s features. It makes my gut clench uneasily.

“Rough night? That should teach you to drink and run your mouth.” His voice is raw and his breath is rank in my face.

“Hello pot, my name’s kettle.” I spit in reply and take the leg from him, running my hands through the motions of reattaching it faster. I want him to leave so I can be alone again. I click the last latch into place as he stands and holds out a hand to help me up. I take it, reluctantly.

“It’s Parcel Day today. We’ve got to be at the Justice Building for eleven. The train is set for noon. Can you handle getting there yourself or do you need a sitter?” I can’t tell if he’s kidding. There’s definitely honesty there and I wonder if he seriously thinks I can’t take care of myself.

“Get me a sitter then.” I aim for sarcasm. He nods his head and then makes for the door, the wood slamming back into the frame as the coil retracts. What a lovely visit.

 

 

 

It’s ten thirty when Prim knocks on my door and let’s herself in. I’m startled to see her in my foyer as I look over from my place on the couch.

“Peeta?” She calls out, not seeing me.

“In here.” I reply. Haymitch must have been serious. I’m annoyed. I don’t need someone to look after me; I can do just fine on my own. And why would he send _Prim_? Her step is as quiet as Katniss’ as she skips into the room and lands herself on the opposing end of the couch. I try to lend a smile but it’s strained on my lips.

“It’s Parcel Day!” Her voice is light as air as she bounces in her seat with excitement. It’s nearly infectious and I let my posture relax slightly. “We’ve got to get going soon – are you wearing that?” Her hand gestures to my jean and t-shirt set.

I had been planning to wear this, yes.

“What’s wrong with it?” I look down self-consciously as she clucks her tongue in her mouth. She’s too old for her age.

“Well, Katniss is in a _really_ pretty dress. I think you should look nice too.” There’s a smile on her face as she bats her eye lashes. This girl could get her way with that smile. It’s a trap.

“Yeah, I guess I should.” I move to stand up but she bounces to her feet before me.

“Don’t worry, I’m on it!” And then she’s gone in a flash and I hear her feet on my staircase. I huff out a sigh and try to disappear into my couch. Katniss’ sister is currently digging through my closet because I’m not even trusted to pick out a proper outfit.

I really _am_ a child.

Soon she’s back downstairs, pushing me towards the laundry room to change into the khakis and button down navy shirt she’s supplied from somewhere in the depths of my cupboards. I didn’t even know I had these clothes.

When I emerge again she claps excitedly and grins.

“It’s Parcel Day!” And then she’s pulling my hand, leading me out of the house and towards the Town Square before I have another thought in my head.

 

 

 

The look on Katniss’ face when she catches Prim pulling me along is nearly priceless. She hadn’t realized either the task that Haymitch had sent her sister on – or maybe she chose to ignore it. As Prim and I approach the stage she finally catches Katniss’ eye and releases my hand, turning around and pulling me forcefully down to her level for words.

“Katniss is mad about last night but don’t worry, she’ll get over it. She loves you, I know it.” With a pat on my cheek, Prim winks and then disappears into the crowd leaving me to the wolf that is her sister.

The confrontation isn’t as harsh as I expected.

“What were you doing with Prim?” There’s a hollowness behind her voice that wasn’t there before. I try to squash the concern that bubbles in my gut.

“She picked me up. I don’t think people trust me to get to these things of my own accord lately.” Her nod of reply is quick before she turns and walks away, joining Madge and her father in a quick briefing. I watch hesitantly from a distance as she chews on her thumb with nervousness.

It’s almost endearing.

I push the thought away and then look out at the crowds. I see my father’s tall frame standing near the back and I step forward as if to join him. I stop, my stomach hitting the floor as I remember that he didn’t want anything to do with me anymore. I stare for a long while before Haymitch is pulling my arm and me towards the stage. The ceremony is about to start.

 

 

 

The finale of the event is the magnificent Capitol train pulling into the District 12 station with a whistle and a screech on the rails. The crowd moves like a herd towards the station, a buzzing of excitement filling the air.

I remain stagnant on the platform, facing outwards as everyone else dissipates. My father remains planted out in his spot in the crowd, watching me. I can barely make out the frown on his face as he meets my eyes.

I don’t want to cry. Not like a little child.

I don’t go to him like I desperately want to. I make my way back towards the Victor’s Village, my duties for the day having been completed. I don’t say goodbye to anyone before I disappear. Not that it makes much difference.

When I’m back in the safety of my home I open the windows to let the sounds and smells of the District float through the air. I strip off my shirt and make my way to the second floor then out onto the roof of my porch intending to relax into the warmth of the sun. It’s quiet out here, the distance from the core of 12 making the sounds of excitement muffled in the air.

It isn’t long before I hear the footsteps and knocking at my front door. I’m tempted to not move. To ignore everyone.

But that isn’t fair. And it’s rude. And it’s not something old Peeta would do.

I crawl back through the window and make my way downstairs to the entry way. When I swing open the door there’s no one but a disappearing form walking back towards the Square.

“Hey!” I call out. The man turns and I want to cry. “Dad?” I step towards him as he smiles sadly up at me. I break out into a run towards him but stumble on the uneven ground and my clumsy ass leg. I used to run track. Now I can barely run a sprint. I’m laying on the ground as he rushes to my side to help.

“Peeta, my boy,” His voice cracks as he pulls at my arms to help me back up. I’m enveloped into a hug before I even establish my footing but it doesn’t matter. Relief spreads through me and a weight begins to lift off of my shoulders. I can’t help the sob that rips from my chest.

I don’t care if it’s pathetic.

“Peeta,” He rests his hands on my shoulders and holds me out. I see the tears mirrored in his blue eyes and I don’t feel so embarrassed anymore.

“Why didn’t you meet the train?” It’s all I can ask. It’s all I want to know. Despite the relief of him being here and seeing me, I can’t let go of the anger that’s inside. His face collapses when he sees my terribly veiled hurt.

“Your mother. You know what she’s like.” I step back a foot. It’s the answer I expected. It’s not the one I wanted.

“That’s a fucking terrible excuse. Why weren’t _you_ there?”

“I wanted to be. I did. But she said she’d leave me, Peeta.” I don’t care for his sob story. I nearly died and he’s threatened by lies from a wife who beats her children and makes every day a living hell?

I don’t remember why I respected my father before this moment. I turn to leave and feel his hand again on my shoulder pulling me back.

“Please Peeta, forgive me!” I shift away and stare him down. I’m not old Peeta. I don’t want to be.

“I needed you, old man. And you weren’t there. For your own flesh and blood. You weren’t there. So no, I won’t forgive you for giving in to her. I won’t forgive you for abandoning me. All of you can just _fuck off_!” Over his shoulder I see Katniss, Prim, and her mother returning to the Village with Haymitch close behind. They hear me scream at my father and pause their pace, watching.

I back up, terrified, as I feel all of the accusing eyes landing on me. I don’t want to be gawked at anymore. I race back to the safety of my house, thankfully not stumbling on my leg. Once inside, I lock the doors and head to my bedroom.

 

 

 

I hear the knocking at my front door. It’s a quick staccato that bangs on the window and then the solid wood.

I just want to be left alone.  I don’t leave my bed to answer it and soon after it stops.

Apparently though, they didn’t leave. I hear the footsteps climbing my stairs and wonder how the hell they got in my house. I don’t even bother to roll over when I hear the door open and feel the eyes looking down on me from across the room.

“He’s your father Peeta, you shouldn’t be so hard on him.” I scoff at Katniss, still facing away from her.

“You don’t understand Katniss.”

“At least you have him. I wish every day I had mine back.” Her voice is like a whisper and it sends a pang of guilt through me.

“It’s different Katniss. He didn’t choose to abandon you. Mine did. He chose my _mother_ over me – the same woman who screams until she’s hoarse and then makes us tell our teachers that we walked into doors when really it was her fist. That is who he chose to stay with.” I don’t have the energy to argue. I’m still so tired.

I barely hear her steps approaching my bed before she’s climbing in next to me and placing her hand on my shoulder. The heat from her body radiates a feeling of comfort into mine and I want to hold her, to feel her skin against mine.

I feel something break inside me and I want to pull away. Need to.

This isn’t real. She doesn’t love me. I roll away and sit up, resting my arms on my knees and rubbing my face with my hands. Exhaustion laces my features as I look over at her, a hurt expression playing under her carefully veiled mask.

“You don’t get it Katniss. You came back to a family, to Gale, to people who supported you through the Games. I have nothing here. I lost everything. I don’t even have my _leg_.” I don’t want to throw it in her face, but it’s true. I didn’t come back whole or to people who love me.

“You have me, Peeta.” She looks smaller when she says it, as though trying to recoil into herself.

“No, I don’t. Not truly. You made that very clear on the train.” I move to the floor and put a hand on my bedroom door. “I just want to be left alone – okay?”

She looks hurt as she walks out of my room. She pauses when she’s past the threshold and looks back inside, meeting my gaze. I can’t do it. I can’t fall back into this game if she’s not going to be in it with me. I close the door quietly on her and flick the lock.

I’m not even safe in my own house.

 

 

 

I venture out to the swing set again that night, the dark of the sky and the moon overhead creating an eerie glow on the surrounding brush. The breeze is cool as it plays in my hair and I’m reminded of so many days as a kid laying outside in the yard as the evening closed in.

I swing gently, pulling comfort in from the familiar feeling of the rubber biting my flesh awkwardly.

I’ve determined that I come out here to escape from my own house. To think and breathe and find something to remember that eases the dark loneliness from my mind for a small while.

I don’t come out here expecting Delly to join me. That’s not what I’m looking for. But come she does, joining me on the other swing and pushing herself to new heights as she rambles on about her life during the Games. About everything I missed.

I’m thankful that she doesn’t prod me about them – the Games - or about anything in my shambles of a life right now. Delly is the only person I have who doesn’t push or poke at things I’d rather not think about. She’s a buoy in the ocean.

“And then Acer and I got together and that was that.” She looked over at me with her flawless grin and I couldn’t help the smile that tugged at my lips. Delly deserved someone that made her smile. There were many times, despite her effervescent demeanor, that she didn’t smile. And she had reason.

Her life hadn’t always been sunshine and happiness. It had been what had first brought us together when we were younger. Her first father used to hit her too, before he died, before her mother re-married. I’d asked her which door she’d run in to when she came to school one day and it had made her cry.

I’d been making it up to her ever since.

Our relationship had never expanded past the realm of friendship unless you include the other night. But even that was so out of character I refuse to count it – we didn’t fuck to feel, it’s wasn’t our thing. It wasn’t _my_ thing. We are friends. The best of friends. And she deserved someone to love her and treat her right.

“I’m glad you’ve got him Delly. He sounds great for you.” I try to make my voice brighter for her. To show that I actually do care and am happy for her. But even I know it’s flatter than it used to be. I can’t even pretend to be happy lately. I see it reflected back at me in her tight features as she tries to keep up the smile. “Really, I’m happy for you. And I appreciate the company tonight.”

She folds her hands into her lap, looking to the sky above. It’s clear and open and the stars are out in full force. There’s a freedom and a wonder about the heavens that I’ve always considered since I was young. It can make you feel infinite, looking above. But it can also make you feel incredibly small.

Today I was small.

“Delly!”

The voice pitches out across the crisp air from the direction of her house and I see her start with surprise. Her mother is calling to her, knowing that she’s not in bed like she should be. Her gaze whips to meet mine as she reluctantly stands and backs towards the direction of her house.

“Let’s get lunch or something this week? Come by the shop.” I frown. I didn’t think her family wanted her to hang out with me anymore. She grins, reading my mind like she used to. “I’m not going to hide my friendship with you Peeta. You’re good and they just need to be reminded of that.”

“Alright,” I nod and she’s off like a bolt. She had changed so much since the Games that I had trouble dissecting the old Delly from this new version. Clearly there were some new lines that she was willing to cross that had never been there before. She was bolder now. It wasn’t a bad thing. Just surprising.

I swing in silence for a little while longer, looking at the sky and contemplating what watches back down on us. I remember the History of Religions class I took a year earlier and wonder if there is a God or anything else up there.

If there is, they’re not benign. They’re cruel.

I don’t think there is. I refuse to believe that they’d sit back and watch children slaughter each other instead of sending a wave or a tornado into the Capitol and killing Snow. It could be so quick and easy.

There’s a chill on my back as the breeze runs through my coat. It’s late. I start to make my way home, walking through the quiet streets on the uneven ground. When I enter the gate to the Village I’m startled to see a large body walking towards me.

I can’t help but retreat a few steps until their face is illuminated in the light marking the pathway. It’s Gale Hawthorne. He looks as miserable as I feel as he makes his way across the grounds, his uniform from the mines coated in coal dust and debris. I consider running in the opposite direction. But he’s seen me. Met my stare and is scowling in response.

I start forward again, keeping my head low and my eyes to my feet. He brushes by me and the moment has passed. I try not to gasp for air as the tension releases from my shoulders.

It’s not that I have a reason to fear Gale. It’s just that I don’t want the confrontation. Katniss had chosen him over me and I planned to respect that – I had no other choice. I didn’t want to become a punching bag for his bad moods just because I’d thought we had something real in the Arena. I was fooled just as much as he was.

When I reach my door I’m surprised to find it unlocked. I was sure I’d locked it, trying to keep out any unexpected visitors. I head inside, nerves racking up and a panic rising in my chest. The smell of sweet roses hits my nostrils and I sputter out a breath. I can see in the kitchen the vase of tall blooms, shining in the overhead light. There’s only one place where these roses came from and it makes me want to gag.

I approach with caution, sure there will be a booby trap of some sort to put me out of my misery and make it so that there’s really only one Victor for the tour. My fingers reach for the small card tucked in the blooms and I pull it loose, a thorn catching on my hand and stinging as the skin bleeds.

 

_Peeta,_

_Panem is in love with the star-crossed lovers. Try not to get too attached to the shoe maker’s daughter before the tour._

_President Snow_

_  
_

I lost whatever dinner I had in me in the sink as the message of the note became clear. It was a risky one, a clear indication that Snow was watching and he expected us to keep playing along. My skin grew cold as I felt my face pale in the dim room. I couldn’t have Katniss. I couldn’t have my family. And now they were going to take away my only friend.

Being a Victor was worse than dying. I had no doubt about this.


	4. Chapter 4

I didn’t sleep that night. I could easily start to count the nights where I did sleep on one hand since arriving home. Hell, I was getting close to being able to count the hours on my fingers. My body was starting to feel it. My mind was starting to feel it.

It was exhausting.

After finding the note from President Snow on my table I hadn’t taken a moments rest. I relocked all of the doors and the windows, even the ones in the depths of my basement. I needed to keep everyone out.

As if a small latch lock could keep out the Capitol.

Who was I kidding?

But still, I had a moment of relief when the house was secure and I could fold myself into the comfort of my living room. The tiled fireplace and the occasionally comfortable furniture was all I needed to get me through the long hours of loneliness that I had tasked ahead of me.

I knew that the next few months before the Tour, now that my official homecoming duties were complete, would be almost completely devoid of Katniss Everdeen. It was almost assured.

And it killed me.

All I wanted was to be near her, to find out everything that I hadn’t had a chance to ask her, to talk to her about, before telling her that I loved her. I wanted her. Even if it meant I had to do it all in reverse – to find out everything about her now. Because dammit, the pressure of not _knowing_ her, the threat of the Capitol looming over us and threatening to take her away at any moment, well, it was fucking torture.

I needed to know her before she or I or both of us were destroyed like we should have been in the Games.

But I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t do any of it.

There was no way now that I could wander up next to her one sunny summer afternoon and talk to her like a normal boy would have. I couldn’t corner her in school about an assignment. We didn’t have that innocence about us anymore. I’d missed my shot and everything had been tainted.

As the train had approached our District we’d moved apart from each other. She’d admitted that it was all an act and that she didn’t have real feelings for me. I’d wanted so badly to put aside how much that admittance hurt, but I couldn’t separate it. I had too much going on to process that as well.

These last few days of celebrations hadn’t helped clear my head of her.

But now, now that we were free and able to avoid each other for the next few months, I needed to take the time to get my own affairs in order. To get my feelings under control without the public watching me play on like a child. Soon enough we’d be back on the train and then I could see where we go from there.

Getting back on that train would undoubtedly be the test of whether or not I could be friends with Katniss, let alone whether she could return my feelings.

I just needed to get a hold of myself. To stop flailing around like an abandoned baby.

Notes from President Snow sure as hell didn’t help.

I hate that I survived.

 

 

 

The idea of visiting Delly, of getting lunch or seeing her family again, makes me ill with anxiety. I decide it’s best not to push my luck, to push the Capitol on this, despite how easy she makes me feel. Being friends with Delly is _easy_ and I want that.

I need that.

I can’t have it.

Instead I laze around in my house moving from room to room, onto the roof, onto the porch, into my gardens. I don’t leave my plot of land. Not for anything. Not for anyone.

Nobody bothers to visit, either.

I try not to think about that.

 

 

 

When I finally return to my habit comfort of baking bread I realize that not only have I not left my house in a week, but I’ve nearly eaten myself out of a pantry. I’m low on everything from grain to oil to herbs.

What have I even been eating all this time?

The thought boggles my mind as I can’t remember the last time I ate, let alone cooked a meal. Apparently food is as scarce for me as is sleep. I’m forgetting how to function now. Oh lucky Victor me.

I set off for town in the early hours of the day, the sun barely rising over the tree tops of the forest as I breach the Square. I know the shops will be opening soon, they’ll hang out their matted dusty flags and open the window displays for the passersby. 

I can’t help but glance towards the bakery. My oldest brother should be working today, if they’ve kept the same schedule. I’m tempted. I want to see him, to see my family, but I don’t want to play with the rejection or feel the heat of resentment that will claw at me for the rest of the day.

I choose instead to head towards the general market to pick up my supplies. The familiar faces that greet me are bordering on kindness. They’re hard and have smiles that hint at a hidden sadness. I can’t tell if it’s directed at me or the Games or the general unwelcome feeling that seems to follow me around like a dust cloud.

Any way you turn it, it’s not a pleasant experience and I don’t remember a time when I ever left the market in such a hurry. I force my body to resist the bile that rises in my throat from the anxiety of the piercing looks I receive.

I never want to be in public again.

When I can finally breathe the air of being outside I hold it together just long enough to make it to a bench. I collapse on to it and brush the prickling sweat from my brow.  The sweat is more from being stressed than it is from the comfortable warmth of the air. I place my bags of goods on the ground beside my feet and tuck my head between my knees.

I used to be a popular kid. People used to like me. There were never any troubles with anyone in town. I don’t understand what changed – I don’t really want to.

After I’ve regained my sliver of sanity I lean back against the dull wood and take notice of my location. Inadvertently I’ve chosen the bench that sits directly across from the bakery entrance. I know whoever is at the till can see me, clear as day, because this is the bench where Katniss used to wait as Prim ran headlong around to see the shop windows. I used to watch her sit here.

I can’t help but stare into the pane of glass, unable to see inside but sure that whoever is there is watching me. I scowl, my brow knitting together and my lips forming a line. I want them to confront me, to challenge me for lurking outside their shop.

But they don’t come.

Delly does.

She pops down beside me on the bench and I can feel her energy and her yellow hair tickling my arm. I relax a little, distracted and sure that if I don’t relax she’ll abandon me as well.

“Peeta, you never stopped by last week and I didn’t see you around – what have you been up to?” It’s approached in an innocent way but I feel a prickle of annoyance begging to respond. I stuff it back in.

“I was around. Taking care of the house, getting settled.” I keep it short; afraid my words will come sharp.

“Oh! I understand-“ she doesn’t “-did you want to come by the-“ I turn abruptly to look at her and her words get trapped in her mouth. Her lips close and her brow furrows. I didn’t notice the anger becoming visible again until it was there, all over my face. She places her hand on my wrist like an olive branch.

I pull myself away. She barely let’s her smile falter.

“What’s wrong?” Her voice has lowered a few octaves and is almost a whisper. From the outside, she’s putting on a good show – friendly, happy, like she’s really enjoying a conversation with the Victor Peeta Mellark. I clearly can’t play along right now.

“Nothing Delly. Don’t worry about it.” I remember we’re in a very public place. A very Capitol-could-be-watching place. It makes my skin crawl. I move to pick up my bags, determined to get home as soon as possible.

“Peeta, tell me so I can help. Please! You’re my best friend and I want to help you.” I turn again to face her, half of my bags clutched in my white knuckles. I don’t know where the rage is coming from but I feel like I’m drowning in it. On the outside my features have cooled, I know I’m masked.

“I want my family back Delly. I can’t even go in the door of the shop to get bread.” The words come out with less anger than I expected. More matter of fact. She nods her head slowly and I can see the gears clicking. Delly was never the fastest.

“Let’s go in then? I’ll go with you.” I stare at her for a moment, thinking it over myself.

“But my mother?”

“She’s not working today, I saw her down at the butchers earlier. I think she’s having tea with his wife this morning.” And it’s as easy as that. Remove my mother from the scenario and I’m ready to walk through that door. Delly picks up half of my bags and leads me forward. My step is hobbled as I go, the cobblestone of the Square not conducive to an uneven gait.

The bell rings overhead and I look past Delly’s shoulder to the man standing at the cash.

 He’s not family.

My heart sinks as we step inside. The man looks up and grins, his gaze settling on mine before his smile tightens. I’m not welcome here.

Delly approaches, her standard bubbly tone asking to possibly place a special order and buy a loaf of bread. In a moment the man is gone into the shop behind and I can hear the hushed tones of men conversing. I look to Delly who has a sad smile on her face, as though in apology, before another man walks through the door wiping his hands on his apron.

“Peeta,” I can see my brother struggling for words as he looks me over. I’m barely holding on to the groceries in my grip as I stand there with my mouth tight and my posture tense. I want to run. He steps closer, out from behind the counter and I can see the internal debate he’s fighting.

“I just wanted to... Say hello.” My words are thick on my tongue. I don’t know what I really wanted from them. Maybe just some reminder that they still loved me. That someone in this world did. I see him take another step and then his hand is on my shoulder and I can see tears in his eyes.

How were all the men in my family afraid of my mother?

“Cob should be back with Dad soon. They went to get deliveries. Can you stay?” I don’t think I want to. Not to risk my mother. I shake my head and can feel Delly sidle closer.

“No. But, you know where I live, right?” I step back, his hand slipping from its perch and I move my bags from one hand to another. He nods and I can see the way his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I miss you Mat.”

And then I’m gone, outside in the Square as the bell rings in my ears. I can feel the panic ebbing out of me as I spin and see Delly stepping out behind me, a fresh loaf of bread in her hands in addition to my bags.

“See, that wasn’t so bad!” She’s bubbly again and grinning from ear to ear. I nod, still trying to catch my breath. There’s an anxiety in me now that I didn’t have before I went in the Arena.

“I need to get going, Delly. Thank you for this.” I make to grab my bags from her but she resists, twisting them back behind her.

“I’ll help you get this all home, I’ll-“ My mind floods with images of her laying out in the Square, dead, her back lashed and bleeding. The note from Snow blooms inside me and I can’t help it. I panic and grab the bags back from her grip as her smile falls from her lips. Playtime is over and I’ve ruined it.

“I’m sorry Delly, I just... I can’t. There’s more. I just can’t right now – okay? Is that okay? I’m sorry. I am.” I’m mumbling as she nods her head, the shock of my abrupt behaviour pushing her into silence. I gather the bags up better into my grip and turn, my pace quick but careful as I head back towards the Village.

 

 

 

As I approach my empty home I’m a little surprised to see Katniss on her front porch, her head ducked down and focused on a project in her lap. I want to see what she’s working on, what it is that draws her attention so intimately. I have a moment of longing.

But I don’t go to her. I don’t greet or wave or call her name.

Instead I bumble into my house and close and lock the door behind me. I set my goods down on the kitchen table and then carefully put them away in the pantry. My mother always taught us to keep a clean house. It was burned into my operating pattern, I was sure of it.

Without stopping, I move into my next auto-pilot and start my prep for a hearty raisin loaf bread. The act returns easily to me and I don’t even bother to measure the ingredients. In no time the loaves are in bowls and covered with a cotton cloth, readying to rise.

I wipe my hands down from the flour and make my way to the couch as the exhaustion from not only my lack of sleep but the immediate stresses of the day begin to take their toll. I turn over in my mind my meeting with Matzo, my oldest brother, and the way he had seemed almost remorseful. I didn’t know what to take from that – whether to think that meant he missed me too, or whether he was nervous about mother finding me returned and in her store.

I couldn’t tell. Mellarks usually have a lot more going on inside than they let on. 

I didn’t want to think about it anymore. I’d given him an in, he could find me if he wanted to.

When the bread is finally finished I pull it out and wrap it in a fresh cloth. It’s still piping hot, but that’s the only way to eat bread and I don’t want to gift anything less.

I make my way over to Haymitch’s house and knock heavily. It’s the first time I’ve been here and I’m not quite sure how to approach him otherwise. Despite him mentoring us through the Games, I didn’t know him much outside of that realm. I felt - no, I knew - that I owed him for saving Katniss. And he likely had the most experience with what I was dealing with.

Haymitch had always been a relatively malignant feature in District 12. He wasn’t known for his manners or his gentile appeal and my mother had always detested him. She would disown me for even standing on his doorstep. But then again, she already had.

I need to stop thinking about my mother and move on from her stranglehold.

I knock again, louder this time, and wait for any sound of life behind the door. When it doesn’t come, I turn the handle and push, surprised to find it open.

“Haymitch! It’s Peeta!” My shout rings hollow in the air and I have to hold my breath as the smell of stale liquor and vomit waft up into my nostrils. It’s sour and makes my eyes water which hinders being able to see anywhere past the foyer. I grip the bread harder in my hands and consider putting my sleeve up to my nose to block the smell.

That would be rude. I don’t do it.

Quietly I make my way in towards where I think the kitchen would be, hoping for a similar floor plan. The Capitol didn’t have much creativity when it came to Victor’s houses, that was for sure. I’m surprised when I find Haymitch sleeping with his head on the table and the lights fully lit with the luxury of electricity in the middle of the day. He’s snoring loudly with a hand clutched tightly to a half-empty bottle of liquor.

I pause, unsure of whether to wake him or just drop the bread on the counter. I don’t get a chance to make the decision as my false foot catches on an unexpected tin can that crashes into a pile of debris, ringing the house with a cacophony of collisions that pierce.

I don’t have time to step out of the way before a knife is flying through the air and ripping through my shirtsleeve, nicking my arm in the process. I’m caught off guard, more than I’m injured, as I grip my wound and stare at Haymitch who’s staring at me.

He’s standing at the table now, his eyes bloodshot and shocked open. His hands are leaning on the wood, as if to balance, and his mouth is open slightly in surprise. I’m not sure which of us is more confused at the scenario.

In the next beat of my heart the man is at my side, pulling my shirt sleeve apart and bunching it up over the split in my skin, muttering more to himself than to me. I’m lost for words as my eyes skip from his pale face to the knife in the wall behind me, stuck.

This is not what I expected. Do all Victor’s become this dangerous?

“What the hell... Still bleeding... Fuck...Hold this...” The words are close in my ear but I can’t take them in. I’ve been attacked so many times in the Arena but this is different – this was unexpected. I hear Haymitch again in my ear and I look at him, my eyes unfocused and dazed with shock and exhaustion. He repeats his words again, more forcefully while grabbing my hand and placing it on the cloth. “Hold this, boy.”

And then he’s gone and I’m left to wonder what the hell I’ve gotten myself in to. I hear the front door slam closed and I can’t help my eyes as they scan over the kitchen. I’m not sure if I was supposed to stay or go.

I make to stand and realize my footing is unsteady. If I wasn’t so tired, I’d be confused as to why a slight scratch would have me winded and trapped on this stool. When did I sit down?

It’s not long before Haymitch is back, a look of calm veiling his features. He’s brought Mrs Everdeen with him as well, a bag of supplies in hand as she looks me up and down. Her gaze is piercing and I haven’t seen a look from her that was this vibrant since the train station when she’d said Katniss couldn’t have boyfriends. She’d looked at me carefully then too.

“Peeta, I need to see your arm – is that alright?” I must look a right mess if she’s asking my permission. I nod, again lost for words, as I watch Haymitch stand in the corner with his hands on his hips. He looks pale and disheveled.

I feel her prodding fingers, pulling gently at the skin and tsk’ing under her breath.

“It’s deeper than I expected. I’m going to put in a few stitches, is that alright?” I nod again and look to Haymitch who’s already handing me the bottle of liquor. I gulp a fair portion and sputter as it burns against the back of my throat.

When she’s done admiring her handiwork I feel her fingers run down my arm, why, I’m not sure. I feel my hand being lifted to her face for closer inspection and she tsk’s again. I turn my heavy head towards her and raise an eyebrow.

“This looks infected, how did you get it?” She’s looking at the scratch from the thorn. I hadn’t realized that it had grown in size and looked slightly ghastly. Apparently I really _wasn’t_ paying attention.

“A rose thorn,” My lips feel heavy on my face and I see Haymitch swirl into my vision. His eyebrows are furrowed in concern but he remains silent.

“Well, use this mixture on it and it should clear up in a few days. I’ll have Katniss-“

“No!” I shout, interrupting her and making the room jump. Even I’m surprised at my outburst. “I mean, let’s not involve Katniss. I’ll be fine.” I pull my hand away from her and move to stand on my own feet (foot). I sway slightly and shake them off when they attempt to steady me. “S’alright. I’m going to head home.”

I remember the bread I had hoped to deliver after visiting Haymitch’s and pick it up off the table.

“This is for you,” I say and hand Mrs Everdeen the second loaf. She looks up at me silently and then looks over at Haymitch.

“Thank you, Peeta.” I nod and make my way to the door, avoiding the shambles on the floor.

“Peeta,” I turn at Haymitch’s voice. He’s standing in the entryway to the kitchen, his hands gripping the frame. He looks apologetic. “Get some sleep, kid. You look exhausted.”

I scoff at him. He should know better than all of us the ruins that become a Victor’s dreams.


	5. Chapter 5

I spend my night out walking through the Seam and the Town. I don’t want to be cooped up in my house, alone and sitting in the dark. It makes this feeling, the feeling I can’t really describe in words, stronger and more suffocating.

It makes me wish I were not here. Maybe not even alive.

I don’t want to go down that path – it’s not me. It never was me before and I certainly don’t want it to be the way the Capitol returned me.

I know the Victor history – it’s not a good one. Too many of us have either been killed suspiciously or ended up dead by our own hand. A natural death is almost unheard of. The thought is unnerving.

As my feet carry me across the soil of the Seam I’m drawn in to the light of a warehouse that stands tall and ominous along the fence line. I vaguely recollect that this must be The Hob, a black market trading place for all those in 12 who don’t have shops. I’ve never been, but I know Katniss and Gale frequent it for trades.

I remember back in school, prior to the Games, when my friends and I would bet each other to go in. Some would, some wouldn’t, but the ones who did always played it off as cool. It never really held that much draw for me, apart from the forbidden aura of it all.

But now, as I stood here at the foot of its large hulking doors, basking in the gentle light that would be driven by the oil lamps inside, I wanted to go in. At least to see what appeal it held for Katniss. To know a little more about what makes Katniss tick. I yank on the door to open it, the screech of its hinges putting my nerves on edge. I was barely standing up as it is, let alone adding more tension to the mix.

Putting one foot in front of the other, I make my way through the aisles, looking at the wares being offered and watching the stall owners as they watch me. There was no disappearing in this place – that much was for sure. I tried not to meet anyone’s eyes, nervous of the proper manners required in a place like this. I wasn’t even sure if I should be in here.

The building was filled with the kind of people you never saw in town – filthy miners off from their shift, disagreeables who were missing teeth, and perhaps a fair-share of Seam-looking girls who looked to be selling themselves. They made my skin crawl the most, especially with their resemblance to Katniss. I couldn’t stop the flood of thoughts that followed. Was she ever among them? Had she ever gotten in a scenario where that was the only option?

I didn’t want to think about it, not now, not ever.

I felt the buildings eyes focusing on me as I walked through. It was time to leave. I wasn’t welcome here either. Turning on my heel, I made my way out the way I came in, my eyes cast downward and my ears perked and ready to take in any approaching sounds. I didn’t expect the hand on my shoulder or the old woman that was on the other end, pulling me towards her stall before I could escape.

I didn’t run. I couldn’t even if I tried. So I followed her back and sat on the stool she placed me on, terrified of what was coming next. I didn’t know what to expect – would I keep all of my toes? Would she sell part of me to the highest Capitol bidder? I was a Victor, for godsake, why wasn’t I taking advantage of that?

Because I was tired. I couldn’t have stopped anyone from pushing me over and taking anything they wanted from me.

I was shocked out of my entrapped mind by the sound of a bowl hitting wood and a gravelly voice telling me to eat up and that I looked “famished”. My mouth was still agape when I looked at her. She was bedraggled and stumpy, greying and rough around the edges. But there was a grandmotherly vibe that was making me think it was okay.

“Who are you?” The words stumbled out of my mouth before I could process them in my own brain. I didn’t want to be rude – not here – but I couldn’t take them back. She let out a hearty laugh in reply and set down a spoon.

“They call me Greasy Sae for all my soup concoctions, but you can call me Sae. Eat up, you look like you need it.” I pick up the spoon and stir it around slowly. I recognize some of the ingredients, but only some. I hesitate, unsure.

“Where do you get the meat?” It’s all I can wonder about. I can’t imagine her buying it at the butcher – the man would probably not even let her into his shop.

“Boy, does Katniss not tell you anything?” I smile with my Victor’s mask. Of course she doesn’t. But the fact that this woman knows Katniss and is implying that she had a hand in this, well that must make it okay. Besides, I don’t see anyone else dropping down at the first bite. I lift the spoon to my lips and carefully taste the broth. It’s delicious. I grin brighter and begin to devour the whole bowl before I realize.

“This is amazing, Sae.” There’s something drawing me to this woman, to her food and her uncanny ability to make me feel at ease surrounded by strangers in The Hob. Her returning smile is wide and toothless. I rummage in my pockets for a variety of coins for payment but she places her hand on my arm across the counter to still my search.

“It’s on the house this time. Anything to feed Katniss’ boy and our Victor.” I feel my cheeks heat up and I want to deny it all, say it was all an act. I don’t want to eat up her favours, to make people think I can’t live on my own. I place a few coins on the counter anyways and smile before slipping off again towards the exit.

When I’m back out on the street I’m surprised at the lightness in my step. That woman, Sae, had treated me differently than anyone else in town. It was comforting, almost.

I was lost in my own thoughts as I walked along the edge of the fence in the direction of the Victor’s Village. I’d never been this way, skirting along the entrance to the mine and passing the slag heap that towered over everything else in the District.

My unfamiliarity is the only reason I can think of why I was soon joined by two girls who must have followed from The Hob. Their clothes were ragged and falling off their shoulders and the bones jutted out of their collars. They reminded me of Katniss on the day when I gave her the bread so long ago. Only their proposition made me want to wretch as they offered themselves as a two-for-one.

I didn’t want to buy women. I didn’t want to buy sex. Not now. Not ever.

I just wanted Katniss.

Stepping back from their caressing hands, feeling like I’ve been sucked into Hades, I fumble in my pocket and pull out all of the coin I carry.

“Please, take this. Please,” I force each girls hand open and place some coin in it, desperate to help them but unwilling to partake in their trade. The girls smile at me and press for more reciprocation and I have to step back quickly.

“Mr Mellark, we promise we’ll be discreet,”

“We’re very good, highly recommended...”

They speak in tandem and the words make me feel sick. The one looks to be much younger than me and the other... Well, she reminds me too much of Katniss to think of anything else. I can’t be here anymore. I step back again, their hands dropping from my shoulder.

“No thank you. I’m alright.” I turn away from them and hear their words at my back.

“Why didn’t he want us, Scoria? Did I do something bad?”

“No, baby. He’s just a good man, is all.”

I stuff my hands into my pockets and hunch my shoulders into my ears, trying to deafen out their words as I step quicker towards the Village. I’m not a good man. Not at all.

 

 

 

My door is unlocked again when I arrive home from my walk. I don’t even realize until I’m in my kitchen, looking into the eyes of Haymitch who’s fondling the wilting rose petals on my table.

I hadn’t bothered to throw them out. Or subconsciously I’d used them as a reminder.

“How’d you get in my house?” I place my keys on the counter and move to put a snack together for myself. I silently hope he didn’t bring another knife with him to finish me off. I come upon a bottle of liquor that was stored in my pantry and offer it to him, pulling down two glasses in the process. Why not?

He pours us each a drink as I butter some rolls, placing them on the table with some meats and pickled vegetables.

“I see you got a little love note here. Why didn’t you say something?” He didn’t bother to answer my question.

“Because it didn’t seem important enough to warrant being concerned.” I sit down in the chair across from him and chew on a bun. I try to keep my voice nonchalant but my face must give away the fear that the note brought me. Haymitch can see right through me.

“Who’s the _shoemaker’s daughter_?” He presses on, determined to get involved as I pull a pickle from the plate.

“Her name’s Delly. We’ve been friends since we were kids.”

“Are you fucking her?” I choke on the food in my mouth and sputter at his question.

“It’s none of your-“

“Don’t fuck with me kid. Are you and her fucking?” He holds up the card and his face looks menacing. I don’t think I’ve seen him act this sober before and it’s concerning. I take a swig of my drink to settle my nerves as I look him in the eye.

“No. We’re friends. That’s all.” He leans back in his chair at my words, his fingers sliding over the note and his mind focused elsewhere. I take another sip of the liquor and relish the burn in my gut. I was never one for drinking before but I seem to have a better excuse now. “What does it matter Haymitch? What does any of it matter, anyways?” He looks up and meets my stare.

“You don’t have any idea what you’re into, do you?”

“I thought Victor’s only had to deal with mentoring when they won. Why is Snow bothering me with threats?” Without warning, his hand swipes across the table and pushes the vase onto the floor with a crash, the glass shattering around my kitchen.

“You broke the rules in the Arena. Can’t you see the impact that has? Tell me you’re smart enough to realize that.” He’s leaning forward on the table now, his fingers clasped tightly together around his glass. I understand what’s going on – I’m not stupid – I just want so much to be left alone. “If you don’t keep it together, boy, we’re all going to be heading for an early grave. You, Katniss, your families, your girl. All of you, dead within the year.”

His words have the effect that he wants as a shiver runs up my spine. I’m not so worried about my family as I am about Katniss and hers, and Delly. I look at the bun in my hands, the tiny rips that have torn it apart.

“I get it Haymitch. But what the hell am I supposed to do about it? I can’t play loverboy if she doesn’t want me. Am I just supposed to stay alone in my house forever and turn into a drunk like you?” My words don’t even seem to haze him. He must be used to the accusations.

“You play by the rules, boy. Keep it together until the Tour. She’ll come around when she needs to.” I nod, understanding. Stop being such a public asshat. Got it. I finish my snack and move to clear the dishes, my muscles unclenching as I stand and force myself to relax. I hear Haymitch move to stand behind me as he places his glass and a small container on the counter to my left. “The cut on your hand. It’s poison, not so much an infection. This works better on it.”

I turn to him as he walks out the door. Poison? I look to the flowers on my floor with their sickly sweet smell still lingering in the air. Anxiety grips me as I realize just how dangerous this whole game is.

 

 

 

I wake up in my own bed the next morning to a loud banging at my door. I turn over, looking at the clock. Three hours. At least it’s another three that I can tack on to my miniscule count. Three hours of sleep that I didn’t get stuck in a nightmare with.

I refocus on the banging below and move to attach my leg and pull on a pair of pants. It’s definitely early morning; the sun is just creaking in through my window. Who the hell comes calling at dawn? I make my way downstairs and unlock the latch, pulling the heavy wood open to reveal my two brothers, still standing almost a foot taller than me, lurking on my porch.

Mat looks at me first, a weary grin spreading across his lips as his hands mash together on his paperboy cap. He swings it out and slaps Cob in the back with it, alerting him to my presence. Cob’s face fills with surprise and I can’t help but grin at them both.

They are my brothers. Nothing changes that.

“Peeta, we thought maybe... Well we thought perhaps we could have breakfast?” Mat asks tentatively.

“We brought bread?” Cob throws in, holding up the thick loaf fresh from the bakery. I motion them inside, looking over their shoulders to see if anyone is watching from a distance. When did I get so paranoid? They make their way into my kitchen and I realize too late the mess that’s still on the floor from the night before.

“Jeez Peeta, do you ever clean?” Cob teases as he reaches down to grab the old stems.

“Don’t!” I leap forward and grab his shoulder, terrified of the damage multiple thorns will do. He backs up quickly and turns to face me, his features laced with shock and his hands held up in defence. “Sorry, just... You might get hurt. Give me a minute.”

I wander from the kitchen, kicking myself for not cleaning it up the night before. When I return, I have my thick gloves from the Capitol on hand as I grab for the flowers and head for the backyard, intending to toss them under the deck.

My brothers watch me as though I’m crazy, their expressions guarded. I look crazy to them, I know it.

“Peeta, I can handle a few thorns, I’m not a baby.” Cob says from the doorway. I kick the remnants out of sight and pull off my gloves.

“I know, just let me deal with it okay?” It’s all I can offer in return before he pulls me down into a headlock and gives me a noogie. I squirm but take it, relishing in the familiarity before the stitches on my arm catch on his jeans and I call out in pain. He releases me as though burned and I try to grin over the pain clearly etched in my face.

“Breakfast?” I motion to the table and pull out dishware for us as my brothers sit. They lay out the bread and I add some jams to the mix, the familiar spread making it feel almost like home. “How’d you guys get away? Does mom know you’re here?”

They shake their heads in response and Mat pipes in.

“No, we don’t tell her these things. Dad knows. He wanted to come but it seemed suspicious for us all to leave at once.” I nod and take a piece of bread, still unsure of where I stand with my father after I yelled at him the other day.

“How’ve you been, brother? Getting anywhere further with that Seam girl?” My smile turns around as I meet his eyes across the table. Cob has always been closer to my mother and it doesn’t surprise me that he doesn’t even bother with Katniss’ name.

“Her name’s Katniss and we’ve been just fine.” Mat puts his hand on my shoulder, clearly sensing the tension that I was trying to subdue.

“That’s great, Peeta. How’ve you been though?” He’s trying to calm the waters.

“I’ve been fine. Living the dream and all.” My back is up and I don’t know much how to let my brothers back into my life.

We relegate conversation to the things that matter little: how the shop is doing, how school is going for Cob, and new recipes that dad is testing for a heartier bread. None of it is consequential and that makes it bearable. I don’t think I could tell them about the Capitol or about how being a Victor is in reality. I don’t want to, really.

It doesn’t take long for me to pick up the feeling of Cob’s eyes focused on my arm. I look down and see a trace of blood blooming through the fabric of my shirt. I must have ripped the stitches. Neither of them says anything about it though, as we continue talking. Just like our family to not talk about the obvious.

When they finally stand to go, the breakfast consumed and my kitchen tidied (because Mellarks always clean up after themselves), they make to head out. I hand them a bag full of coins and don’t let them refuse, sure that they can use them to eat a meal that isn’t just stale bread.

I stand on my porch as they walk the path back to the Square. When they reach the gate I turn to go back inside, pausing only to look out of my periphery as I see Prim sprint across the grass towards where my brothers are about to disappear.

I look over to Katniss’ porch, startled to see her watching me blatantly instead of her sister. I lift my hand in a wave and she turns away, startled to catch me returning her gaze. We both watch as Prim tugs on the tail of Mat’s shirt and they turn around to greet her.

Nobody could turn away Prim.

I can’t help but wonder what she’s giving them and why she’s bothering as she hands over a package when Mat crouches down to her level. My oldest brother was always the best of us all, greeting the kids in the bakery and offering them cookies behind their parents back. He had a sweet spot for kids, one that I always mocked him for.

Until now – I’d never mock him for the kindness he shows to Prim in this moment.

I watch as Prim turns and bolts away from them again, heading towards my porch this time. The ribbons in her hair are flying behind her as her feet race across the uneven ground.

“Peeta! Your brothers are lovely!” She shouts when she’s close to my house. I smile in return and watch as she doesn’t stop at my house, but whips in the other direction, back to Katniss’ porch and up into the house.

I stare at Katniss for a moment longer as she watches out from her post. She doesn’t look at me, but I can see the way her body is slumped in stature. She looks tired. I want to go to her. Help her. When she finally looks up at me there’s a frown on her face and she motions to me and then her arm. I look down and see that the blood from earlier has run a gentle line down my forearm. I clamp my palm over it and shrug.

After she disappears behind the door, I’m not surprised to see her mother heading my way a moment later, shaking her head at me. When Katniss is back on the porch, her thumb stuck between her teeth, I can’t help but feel a moment of yearning.

I can’t help but wish it was Katniss coming to me.

Mrs Everdeen takes me by the arm and leads me inside, away from the sight of Katniss and back into my kitchen. I’m about to get a scolding.

You’d think being a Victor meant good things. You’d think.


	6. Chapter 6

When you think of mistakes, like really think about them, what do you picture first? Spelling? Grammar? World geography?

I wish those were the things I made mistakes on. I wish it were all that simple. But apparently it’s not. Not in life and definitely not when you’re a Victor.

Mistakes in this life seem to bloom tenfold.

Now, I’m not saying my mistakes today are going to get anyone killed (at least I hope not) but I will say that they’re going to resonate in my guilty conscious for a long while.

It’s okay though, I think, because as they say in the Capitol – I’m a Victor and I can do whatever the fuck I want.

Unless it fucks with them, at least.

 

 

 

It’s a couple days after my brother’s last visit when I see them in town again. I’ve gone to the Square to get away from the Village and back into the general population. Plus, I needed some more supplies for the unhealthy obsession I’ve developed with bread.

If it can be called an obsession – maybe it’s just a habit that I’m having a hard time breaking since I no longer work at the bakery. Either way, I’ve baked myself through more than a dozen loaves in the past week and I’m running out of places to give them to – even Sae is turning them down, having not been able to trade them decently.

I don’t care either way if she sells them or gives them out for free – they just can’t come from me or people would take it as unwanted charity. That’s just how the Seam works, I’ve come to realize. It’s just one more thing to understand about Katniss now.

I walk with a purpose today, a smile on my face after getting a whole four hours of sleep the night prior. I pause outside of the shoemaker’s storefront and look in the window. Delly is working the counter and her father is cobbling in the back.

I don’t go in. I still haven’t been to get lunch with her, terrified of what the Capitol will do to her if I so much as look like my affections for Katniss are waning.

They’re not. I can assure anyone of that. They’ve only gotten worse with not being able to see her everyday like we used to in class. I’d even settle for the way we were on the train or in the training centre. Anything to have a moment with her. Anything.

But I can’t. So I’m distracting myself with bread and running at night until my bones are ready to collapse in a heap in my foyer when I return. It’s not that running is hard, it’s just that my metal doesn’t want to cooperate. The running and the pain do little to ease the ache that the thought of Katniss puts in me, but it sure as hell distracts me enough to get some sleep without falling out of bed.

Which is not to say I don’t dream – now they’ve just become tedious nightmares that paralyze me. It’s always about her. That doesn’t help either.

I move on from sticking my face in the window of Delly’s shop and head towards the market, determined to pick up a fresh delivery off the rations train as well as a few canvas boards for a project I’m working on as my ‘talent’.

Each Victor, in their freedom from school and work and any other responsibility that could naturally come with growing up, has to develop a talent, as in, we have to do something with our time so that the Capitol can show off what a good thing it is to be a Victor.

It’s bullshit – everyone knows it – but we have to do it anyways so that they have something to fill the airwaves with in the lead up to our Victory Tour.

I’ve chosen painting, easily. It’s always been the one thing that I know I’m good at. And I miss decorating the cakes. I don’t make those anymore – I don’t think anyone would want them if I did. And either way, I don’t think that painting Glimmer oozing tracker jacker venom would translate very well into icing.

Even I’m disgusted with the thought.

Making my way through the busy aisles of stalls I pickup my goods and deliveries. It takes less time than I thought and I’m soon back outside, sitting on my bench and fondling my new paintbrushes. They’re more expensive than I’ve ever owned before, but the man I ordered them from insisted I have nothing but the best.

“Don’t let mom see him, she’s fit to beat him senseless today if she got the chance.” I hear my brother Mat whisper harshly from nearby and I look up, my fingers still holding tight to my paintbrushes as my eyes meet his. He’s pushing Cob forward into the bakery and turning towards me, a frown on his face.

“Hey Mat,” My voice isn’t as cheery as it used to be.

“Peeta, you should go.” He comes to stand in front of me and I have to shield my eyes from the sun as I look up to him.

“Why? I’m not going to be pushed out of town just because she refuses to deal with me.” I really don’t want this fight, but I can’t hide out in my house for the rest of my life. Besides, I’m not doing anything to them – why can’t she just ignore me like she’s been doing since I got back?

“No Peeta, really. No games today. She’s furious that we came over the other day – been yelling about your bad influence for days. It’s mad-“ We both hear the bell behind his back as I see my mother standing on the stoop of the bakery entrance.

I can’t help but feel as though Cob let her know I was here on purpose. There’s a rage on her face as she wipes her hands on her apron, watching as Mat stands before me. My gut clenches and I stand with my bags held tight in my hands, debating how best to exit the Square.

I don’t get the opportunity before she’s storming over towards us as my brother backs away hesitantly. He gives me a pitying look and I hate him in that moment. He could stop this, if he wanted. We all could – but she’s our mother and we were taught better than to raise our hands to a woman.

She was always one for top class propriety in public.

I guess she was, as in the past tense, because she isn’t right now. Her stout form stands before me with her hands on her hips. With a look, Mat is heading back to the bakery without a word of goodbye and I’m left standing in the Square facing down my mother.

“What are you doing here?” Her voice is tight with anger and I can’t understand where all of this hatred comes from. She’s always been bitter but rarely has it been directed all towards me at one time.

“I didn’t realize I couldn’t be out in public.” I can’t help but scowl in return. I grip my bags tighter in my hands, resisting the anger that’s bubbling up in me.

“You stay away from my boys! They’re good boys and I don’t want you corrupting them with your dirty ways.” I think my mouth is hanging open. I try to form words with it but they don’t come – incredulous with the accusation that I could corrupt them or more so that anything I’ve done has been less than honorable. 

“You think I’m filthy because I love a Seam girl, is that right?” I just need to clarify.

“Don’t you get smart with me, Peeta, I’m your mother and you will respect me.” Her words are low, almost a whisper. I can’t help but get louder in response, determined to embarrass her.

“You’re not a fucking _mother_. _Mothers_ love their children. They don’t yell at them. They don’t beat them. And they sure as hell don’t fucking abandon them!”

I feel the solid punch to my cheek as my hands release my bags. I’m thankful for my metal leg, for the first time ever, when it doesn’t give out under the surprise of her hit. She never was one for slaps, always preferred the bite of bone hitting bone. I rub my hand tentatively across my cheek and feel the gentle draw of blood from her ring cutting into my face.

It’s then that I remember we’re in a very public space in a very gossip-filled town. I can feel the eyes watching me from all directions, secretly placing bets on whether I’ll react.

I was never one to react. I always took my beatings in the privacy of our kitchen.

“Very classy, mum. I’m sure hitting your kid is less shameful than loving someone from the wrong side of town.” My hand is covered in blood when I pick up my bags, watching her eyes skitter back and forth around the Square. She realizes a bit too late our very public encounter and I have the pleasure of witnessing a moment of panic cross her features. 

I try not to relish in it as I walk away from my mother for the last time.

 

 

 

I stop at The Hob on my way home, the blood still caked to my face. Nobody looks twice when I purchase a bottle from Ripper and head quickly out the exit towards my house.

 Nobody ever looks twice in The Hob, I realize – maybe that’s where I belong now.

I somehow manage to get myself home and into the shower before the shock of the morning truly gets into my head. It really shouldn’t have gone that far – she’s never focused so intently on hating one thing before.

I’ll tell you one thing; it’s hard to realize your mother would actually prefer you dead. It really is, no matter how terrible she is.

I stand for an extended amount of time in the blistering pressure of the water as I let the frustration and anger at her work itself out of my body. When it’s gone, I can’t help the tears that come or the complete exhaustion that overtakes me. I lean against the wall with my head hung low as the heat goes away and the water slowly begins to cool down my back.

I don’t bother to get dressed before I seat myself heavily in the corner of my bed and pull the white liquor closer.

There’s a pounding in my head that I’m sure is stress related. I can feel my cheek swelling up and my eye turning black as the earlier assault finally takes its visible toll. My face hurts. My body hurts. My heart hurts.

 

 

 

It’s cliché. I know it. I understand it.

But fuck it. I’m drunk and I did it to forget how I was feeling. There’s no regret here because I am feeling excellent as I walk through the Village, heading in towards the town. I’ve purchased another bottle of liquor from Ripper since the first one is gone now.

I’m halfway through it. And still feeling fine.

When I finally make my way into the Square (it took longer than usual as I fell a couple times, but who’s counting?) I’m drawn towards Delly’s house. She should come out to play. We can hangout. It’s dark enough that even if the Capitol had spies, we could hide in the shadows and be friends and nobody would see.

We could be friends again.

I pick up a few rocks along the way. As I stand below her yard I try to focus on getting my aim just right. I toss the first pebble and it hits the siding of her house. Miss. I toss another, this time hitting the window pane as a small noise rings out. I wait, but there’s no answer. I toss again, hitting the glass dead on.

There’s a candle lit and a yellow haired girl standing behind the glass. I wave slowly at her and drop the rest of the stones at my feet. I clutch the bottle tighter in my hand as I watch her disappear from the window without a sound.

It’s seconds before I see the door to her house opening and Delly steps out in her night clothes. She closes the door carefully behind her and looks me over. There’s no smile on her lips this time and I’m suddenly unsure of my place here.

“Peeta? What are you doing here? Do you know what time it is?” She’s holding her nightgown in her hand as she walks barefoot towards the gate surrounding her house. I meet her there and I can feel the lopsided grin on my face as she approaches. I pull her in for a hug but she resists. She’s frowning. “What happened to your face, Peeta?”

I feel her fingers flutter across my skin as she steps closer, examining it in the light from the Square. I like her touch.

“I had a chit chat with my mother – didn’t you hear?” There’s a slur again in my words and I have to think about just how much I’ve had to drink tonight. Her hand presses against my cheek and I can’t help but close my eyes and lean into it. It’s the first real comfort I’ve had in weeks.

“I’m sorry, Peeta.”  Her fingers brush through my hair and it’s okay. It’s okay. I lean in and press my lips to hers. It’s okay.

It’s not okay. Her hands land on my shoulders and she steps back from me. I’m dazed. What was I doing?

“Peeta stop.” Her words are like ice and I can’t help but step back myself. I want to step out of my own body. Get away from myself. I drop the bottle in my hand and look up at her, my eyes I know are filled with tears and I can’t really figure out why.

“Delly...” My words are cracked on my lips. I don’t know why I just did what I did. I’m ruining everything.

“We can’t do this – you don’t want this Peeta. I know you don’t. You need to go home now. Go home and get some rest.” She’s stepping back towards her house now and I watch her retreat. She’s got tears in her eyes now too and she’s wiping the back of her hand across her mouth. Wiping me off her.

“I’m sorry.” It’s only a whisper from my strangled throat as she closes the door behind her.

I can’t blame her. Not even a little. It’s my mistake and I know better. I’m fucking with my best friend. I’m destroying everything.

 

 

 

I’m back in The Hob for the third time today – convinced that this is the place for fools and terrible people like myself.

Not that these people are terrible. I just think they don’t mind the terrible people here as much as they would anywhere else in District 12.

I’ve collapsed my body onto a stool at Ripper’s stall and I’m cradling another drink. I’m way past my limit but I don’t care. I’d do anything to not be at home alone right now. My head is resting on the edge of the stall as I listen to Ripper’s grated voice deal with another customer.

It’s a girl. I can tell by the gentle way her voice floats into my ear like a song. Katniss used to sing. It’s why I fell in love with her when I was a kid. Standing up there in front of the whole school, singing the national anthem. My father said she got it from her dad. I thought she got it from the angels.

“Is he alright?” Her voice is light. I lift my head from my hands and grin a shit-eating grin at her. She looks like Katniss. Looks like her in that she has long dark hair and olive skin. I’m pretty sure her eyes are more blue than grey, but that doesn’t matter. She smiles in return and hands Ripper some coin for her own drink.

She watches me as she walks past. There’s a slight tilt to her head as she motions me to join her at one of the tables down the aisle. I sidle off the stool and make my way to her. Anything to fill my time tonight.

“Hi,” I sit down across from her and place my bottle on the table.

“Hi there yourself,” Her smile looks genuine and kind. It doesn’t quite reach her eyes. Not like Katniss’ smile, but close enough. She doesn’t even mention my bungled face. “I know who you are; you’re Peeta Mellark, aren’t you?”

I’d rather not confirm or deny in my current state. Instead I smile brighter, hoping my charm will convince her that it doesn’t matter.

“What’s your name?”

“Arkose,” she takes a sip of her drink and I can’t help but notice as she licks her lips, “My father works in the mines. He asked me to come get him some liquor before I go home.” She wiggles her eyebrows and takes another sip. I feel her foot on my calf and my eyes whip to hers, the sensation going straight to my groin.

I can’t help it. I can’t help anything.

“Oh yeah? Then why are you still here, with me?” I feel her foot drift higher and I know where this is going. I don’t want to stop it. I know I should. She looks up at me from below her eyelashes, her smile mischievous.

“You looked like you needed a friend. Do you need a _friend_ , Victor?” I take a swallow of my liquor and feel it burn. My pants have grown tight and I’m practically aching. I need to get out of here. Get something. I stand and readjust myself candidly, her eyes watching my every movement.

I shouldn’t. Shouldn’t.

“Only if you want to be one.” I lean over and whisper in her ear as I head for the exit. I don’t know if she’s following. Some part of me hopes she doesn’t.

A big part of me hopes she does.

I feel the night air breeze over my skin as I step outside into the dark of the night. There’s no moon in the sky tonight. It’s perfect for masking myself as I begin to walk towards the fence.

I barely get anywhere before I feel myself being pushed up against the wall of the warehouse that houses The Hob. The girl is at my lips, her tongue forcing its way into my mouth as I gasp in surprise. She gets ten points for her assertiveness. It reminds me of Katniss. I can’t hold in the groan.

I feel her hands all over me and I struggle to remain standing as her fingers find their way under my shirt and across my chest. It feels good. It’s not right. But I need it. I need _something_. I push myself against her and turn us so that it’s her back pressing against the steel wall. I’ve become the aggressor now as my hands squeeze her breasts and I press my hips into hers.

Her hands work steadily at my belt, at my jeans, as her fingers find me and pull. I can’t hold in the noise I make at her touch as my hands grasp at her hair, forcing her head to the side and exposing her neck. I run my tongue across her collarbone and back up to her lips as her hand slides against me.

She’s turned us around again, the cold of the metal pressing against me as I thrust into her hands. She breaks the kiss and I feel her sink to her knees before me, barely realizing her intentions before her mouth is on me and I’m pulling her hair. I force myself to release it, sure that I’m hurting her, but my fingers are tangled. Shaking my fingers loose I feel her head jerk and her teeth scrape.

I hiss. She grins around me, refocusing her efforts.

It feels good. It’s wrong. It’s wrong. It’s wrong.

I can’t help it as I rock myself in her mouth. It’s a need. Her lips tighten and her hands join in on the ministrations. I feel filthy as I come, spilling into her mouth and letting out a strangled cry in the dark. I watch as she spits me out next to my shoe, her hand wiping across her mouth. Wiping me off her.

I’m ashamed instantly, having used her for only one reason. Just like I used Delly. Just because all I want is Katniss. Arkose stands, her hands on her hips and an accomplished smile on her shining lips. I am the worst person in the world.

“Well, that was nice. Maybe we can do it again some time?” Her voice isn’t so light anymore, but it’s still got a hint of laughter. I want to be sick.

I nod at her and button up my pants, my belt hanging loose as I run a hand through my hair distractedly. This was a mistake. Another mistake.

“I’ll... I’ll see you around, maybe.” She can see it in my eyes that I don’t know what to do. I know it, because she touches my arm and smiles sadly at me.

“I won’t tell anyone.” And I’m thankful for that, but I can’t hide the shame I’m feeling. I turn away and head for home, determined that I should never again leave my house ever.

 

 

 

I lay in bed that night, the heat from outside creeping over my skin as I listen to the sounds of outside.

I can’t help but think of what I’ve done. How I wanted it to be Katniss who I was kissing tonight. Only her. It’s only ever been her.

There’s no taking it back. It’s done and over with.

But not really. This crushing loneliness and drowning feeling won’t ever go away. It must be why Haymitch drinks so much. Why Victor’s would rather kill themselves than continue living.

I feel like my world is spinning out of my control and I can’t get a handle on it properly. There’s no grip. There’s nobody to pull me back in.

My body curls itself into the fetal position as my liver processing the liquor makes me shake.

I’m pretty sure the biggest mistake a Victor makes is making it out alive.


	7. Chapter 7

I avoided The Hob for the next few days. I avoided everything, to be honest. I kept to my house and painted my dreams. The bright colours and vivid lines were easy to play out on canvas and they had a soothing effect on my mood.

When I was finally drawn out of my reverie, I looked back upon the images and felt the bile in my stomach rise. I’d painted terror. I wanted to burn them but I couldn’t look away.

I spent the afternoon in my painting room, my metal leg displaced on the floor and my broken body sitting heavily in a chair I’d dragged in. It was a punishment for myself – to look upon these images and face what haunted me.

I hadn’t realized that dusk had come until I was pulled out of my reflections by a ruckus in my kitchen. There were pots crashing and squeaks of surprise rising up from below. My fingers gripped tightly to the arms of the chair as I held steady and pushed back the panic. Reattaching my leg, I rose to my feet (foot), knowing that I needed to investigate.

The kitchen was a disaster. My baking supplies had been strewn about the counter and there were bowls and pans clattered across the floor. The culprit was quite possibly the last person I expected to be standing in my kitchen, unannounced and unsure.

Primrose.

“I’m sorry Peeta! Mom taught me how to make some bread and I wanted to make some for you since we haven’t gotten any in days and I thought maybe you needed help and so I came over to help but you were really, really, focused upstairs and I didn’t want to interrupt and I’m sorry! I’m going to clean it I promise!” Her voice was high pitched and she looked on the verge of crying.

“ _Prim_.” I heard my voice crack on her name and I forcibly had to release the tension in my shoulders. I had expected, been prepared, to face something so much worse.

“Peeta I really am sorry! I just wanted to help!” She clutched the bowl she held tighter in her hands and in that moment I couldn’t be mad at her.

“It’s alright,” I stepped forward and reached down to pick up another bowl. She’d noticed that I was gone. “I’m sorry I’ve let you down on the bread. I’ll try not to do it again.” I started tidying up the kitchen around her as she stood with her lips tight, her body turning to follow mine as I moved around the space.

“Oh, it’s not like that! We don’t need it; I just thought you might need help. I thought you got busy with the other orders for the families that Sae gives them to, that’s all.” My frown deepened, realizing that my bread was missing from not just Katniss and her family, but from other families in the Seam too. It felt like shit to know I’d let them down. I realize that I’ve rubbed my flour-covered hand through my hair too late.

“I’m sorry Prim, I’ll do better next time.” She’d unwittingly made me feel like my mother was cursing down at me. I rubbed the counter harder with my cloth, my knuckles white on the fabric.

“Peeta stop. I’ll clean it all. Please, you’ve done enough!” Now she was back in action, her small frame whipping around the kitchen as she gathered all of the scattered cookware from the floor and put away the bags of ingredients.

“Wait. What’re you doing? I thought we were making bread?” I ask as she puts the bag of flour back in the pantry. She pauses, turning to grant me the biggest smile I’ve ever seen.

“Really?” I nod, placing a clean bowl on the counter.

We go to work immediately. She’s a fantastic student, mimicking my own movements with each of hers. I’d bank on the fact that her bread will taste even better than mine, I think, as I pull it from the stove some time later.

This little girl is the best company that I’ve had in weeks. There’s an effortlessness to being around her, and that’s what I crave. We stick to conversations surrounding Katniss’ hunting and her readjustment back into home life. It’s distressing to hear of her nightmares, but I focus on reassuring Prim that these will pass soon.

I try to convince myself that they will.

“What’d you give my brothers, Prim? When they were here?” I can’t help but think about that day and turn over in my head the innocence of that moment. I’d never figured out what she’d done or why and it plagued me.

“Oh! Just some cheese from Lady, my goat. Mat sometimes brought us bread while Katniss was away. It was very kind of them.” Her hands are sticking in the dough so I add a little more flour.

“I didn’t know they did that.” It comes out under my breath and more so directed to myself.

I’m surprised at my brothers and my family – I never would have thought they’d do something like that. I’d always known that my Dad had once loved Mrs Everdeen before she married, but I could never picture him going beyond my mother to help them.

We move on to talking about her and Rory’s adventures in The Hob and I’m slightly concerned that she ventures in there at such a young age. She’s quick to bite that she’s not that young, that Katniss had been going in there for years too.

“Rory went in to trade the meat he caught in Gale’s traps the other day. We talked with a man who was trading for a mourner’s wreath. It was terribly sad.” I snap my waning attention back to her words and replay them.

District 12’s lasting traditions included the Hanging of the Wreath, a fresh blossom wreath that is fastened to a family household’s door for the missing or lost. It symbolizes the fresh pain of loss, the nature of it, and the eventual wilting and seeding of the flowers that represent rebirth. The practice isn’t as popular in Town, the families there being able to afford services in a parlour, but the Seam still uses it frequently. It’s not uncommon to walk the streets after a mine blast and see wreaths on many of the Seam doors.

I want to know who’s been lost but I don’t want to pry. I need to. I have to know.

“Prim, do you know what happened?” I’m tentative in my question as I wrap her loaf in a fresh cloth. She’s sitting at the table behind my back so I’m not forced to look at her when I ask for details.

“He said his daughter was arrested by the Peacekeepers for underage drinking. They came to his house and took her. He doesn’t think she’s coming home. It really is horrible, isn’t it?” Her words send chills down my spine as I grip the counter, trying to remain steady.

“Do you know who it was?” I feel like I’m being strangled as I struggle to get the words out.

“I think her name was Ar- something. Like a flower maybe-“

“Arkose?” My mouth is dry.

“Yes, maybe. Do you know her?” Prim’s voice is laced with concern now. I can’t hold it in anymore. I feel my body shaking with guilt and regret and terror.

I’m through my porch door and onto my deck, the wood behind me clapping shut sharply as my stomach heaves over the side. I collapse onto my ass on the stairs and cradle my head in my hands. This can’t be real. Not real.

I hear Prim come out the door behind me, her footsteps soft on the wood.

“Peeta, are you alright?” Her hand is gentle on my shoulder and I have to bite my hand in my mouth to prevent the sobs from wracking my body. I see out of the corner of my eye the petals from Snow’s warning blowing in the fall breeze across my lawn. Mocking me.

“Not feeling well, Prim. You should get home to your sister, she’s probably worried.” My voice is tight and sharper than I intended. I feel her squeeze my shoulder.

“She won’t be worried. Should I get my mother?” I shake my head fiercely – the last thing I need is Mrs Everdeen here.

“Go home Prim.”

She’s gone without another word having picked up on my obvious need to be alone.

I don’t want to think about it. There are so many other factors that could be at play here. It can’t just be me.

I know it is.

The warning was clear.

I empty my stomach out onto my grass again, my palms grow clammy. This was a real consequence that I should have seen coming.

 

 

 

I don’t know how long I’m sitting on my porch, the sky dark around me with the air growing colder, before Haymitch is across the yard. He stands at the foot of the stairs, a bottle in one hand and the other in his pocket. It’s an innocent gesture but I know why he’s here.

“Leave me alone, Haymitch. I don’t need your shit tonight.” I watch as his feet scuff the ground. He’s fidgeting. I really, truly, just want to be left alone.

“We need to talk, boy.” Lifting my head from the post where I’ve been leaning for hours makes my neck crick in all the wrong ways. I’m stiff and my body doesn’t like it. My mind is too tired. I meet his gaze reluctantly; can see the frown in his brow.

“Then talk.”

“Let’s go inside.” I don’t want to be inside, trapped. I settle down again and lean back on my hands. Haymitch scowls and reaches for my collar and without hesitation I’m reaching up to smack his hand away from me as fury clouds my bleary mind. My mother used to drag us by our ears. “You’ve been out here for hours and you’re starting to give off the crazy vibe, kid.”

I can’t help but look over to Katniss’ house and see the windows all lit brightly with the hum of electricity. There’s no shadow casting out towards us. I get up anyways, my feet (foot) carrying me into the suffocation of the four walls that I call my home.

We settle into the living room, me on the couch and he sprawled out on the stuffy chair across from the fireplace. It’s the first time it’s been used. I watch in silence as he pulls his fist out of his pocket, his eyes focused on me. There’s no hesitation as he places a white, dried out rose bud on the table.

I feel the panic rising in my chest and pushing my heartbeat sky high as I look at the flower. There’s no doubt as to where it came from. It’s another warning.

“I found this when I woke up today. Pleasant little letter with it too.” He pulls a note out of his chest pocket where it’s been crushed and mutilated. It’s placed on the table next to the rose. My hands clasp together tightly, the nails digging into the skin nearly drawing blood.

I don’t want this note. Don’t want any of this.

Not a Victor, not here in 12, not here in this house with this old drunk. Not alive.

I feel his eyes on me but I can’t meet them.

“ _If your Victor is determined to be a whore, I can take care of Miss Everdeen and we’ll ship him here. Just say the word and this love story will end_.”

I think my heart stops. The words roll off of Haymitch’s lips and I know instantly they’re not his own. They’re too calculated, too focused, too knowing. I feel lightheaded.

“What did you do?” I put my head between my knees and try to breathe. I’m grateful that for the moment, Haymitch doesn’t press. I hear his feet up and pacing around my living room, like a caged lion. “What happened, Peeta? You need to tell me now.” He’s standing over me now. The smell of white liquor is burning my nostrils.

“I... There was a girl. We just... She’s been disappeared now, I think. By the peacekeepers. I didn’t...” I can feel it all at the back of my throat as I look up to him, my hands are fluttering in the air and I feel like I’m drowning. He’s standing still. There’s no bottle in his hand anymore. I sputter out some half words and can feel my sanity on the verge of cracking before he crouches down in front of me and grabs me by the shoulders.

It brings me back. Makes me steady. Almost.

“I was tired. And drunk. There’s no excuse. None. I just wanted someone and she was there and it just... Happened. Haymitch, it just happened!” His eyes never leave mine as we stare at each other. I know mine are panicked and wide. His are calm and calculating.

I can see the tick, tick, tick, of the gears working. Haymitch was never stupid.

“She’s been disappeared then?” I nod at his question. That’s all I really know for sure, and even that came from Prim. “One time, right? Nothing more?” I nod again, unsure of where this is going.

“It was only once. A few nights ago. We didn’t fuck, if that’s what you’re wondering. It wasn’t like that. I just needed something, _anything_. And I can’t have what I want. I didn’t think-“

“Exactly, kid. You didn’t think.” He pauses, standing up to pace again. I watch him and put my knuckles in my teeth. It’s how I deal. “Your choices impact all of us, Peeta. Do you get that?”

“Yes, but I didn’t-“

“No,” I try to interrupt but his menacing look shuts me up. “No, you get this now. You could get her killed. Get them all killed. And then they’ll sell you and violate you and take away every last good part of you.” He sucks in a breath and I can see the pain lacing his features. There’s something more to this lesson that he’s not telling me. “You’re good, Peeta. That’s why I didn’t bet on you in 74. Figured I had better chances using it to get her home. But you both made it and she’s going to come around.”

“She won’t though.”

“Stop interrupting me. She will. If you don’t get her killed first. Keep your dick in your pants.” He looks at me now. There’s something murderous in him that is barely reigned in. He returns to the chair across from me and stares off into the dead embers.

“What do you mean they’ll sell me?” I take the risk in asking. I don’t want to talk anymore about what I’ve done as he seems to have let it go. I never will.

“Like Finnick Odair. You’ll be sold to anyone. They’ll do anything they want to you. And you’ll never escape it.” His voice is a dead whisper as he speaks to the fireplace. It haunts me, the way his face has fallen and the almost childish posture he’s adopted in the chair. I feel like I’m invading his privacy.

There’s a silence that stretches out between us as we sit in my living room, neither of us willing to mention the atrocities or the overwhelming invasiveness of the Capitol. It’s not worth words anymore. But there’s a feeling that I just can’t shake.

“How do you know she’ll...” I can’t finish the sentence. I want to know how he knows Katniss so well. I’m desperate to know.

“She will because she didn’t shoot you at the end of the Games.” He goes to stand and I follow him into the kitchen as he begins to head towards the back door. “Peeta,” His hand grips the doorframe as he looks me over. “Get it together. Don’t get hung up on the girl – she had a lot more shit going on than you think.”

I feel my mouth open slightly in surprise. Haymitch knew Arkose. He knew all along.

“Why’d you make me admit it?” There’s a weakness in my voice.

“Because you needed to get it out. Deal with it now. Then smile wide and make it right with Katniss. She needs you.” I don’t think I’ve ever heard kinder words from this man – his usual harshness is gone. There’s something here, something that changes him when he speaks about Katniss. I look him over once more and then he’s gone, dragging his bottle with him as he disappears into the dark of the yards.

I’m left standing in my doorway, the kitchen light spilling out onto the deck. The lights from next door are now off downstairs. I can see Katniss’ shadow from her room which faces my house. She’s perched in her window, knees drawn to her chest. I want so badly to go to her.

I need to get it together. Need to keep us all alive.

 

 

 

I haven’t seen Delly since the night that I kissed her. She hasn’t come around and I haven’t stuck around long enough in town to have her spot me – if she’d even bother to approach me after what I did.

It was reckless and not just in the Capitol-will-kill-her way, but in the ruining-our-friendship way. I want to see her before I go, if only just to salvage whatever friendship we have left. To make it right.

 I’ve developed a fair amount of self-loathing since the Games. Or it’s just gotten worse (I’ve always been one for comical self-depreciation) but now there’s also a mix of bitter sarcasm – like Haymitch has rubbed off on me. It’s how I cope with the nightmares, the shield of protection against the lack of sleep and the coherency issues.

Not to mention how I hide all of the terrible decisions I’ve made and the way they’ve impacted everyone.

I’ll never forget what I’ve done. Not ever.

Getting back on track with the better Peeta I once knew it’s obvious that my main fault lay with Delly. I’m going to see her today. Apologise. Beg for forgiveness. Ask for my friend back.

It’s fall weather when I’m wandering through town, the leaves brushing across the ground and sweeping up in the gusts of air. Like an old fairy tale or something. I have the intention of picking up more paints that I ordered off the train but in all reality, I’m using it as an excuse to track her down.

You have to pass the cobbler to get to the train station. Original plan, I know.

I’m walking better now, the limp having changed into a more reasonable stagger every few steps. I only sometimes notice the ache in my joints and the pricks of phantom pain that shoots from my foot that is no longer there.

When I pass by Delly’s family storefront, I peek in the windows. She’s neither at the cash nor helping someone size a shoe. She’s not here. My chest falls a little as my plan comes apart. It’d taken unnaturally long for me to pull in the courage to see her today and now the chance was gone.

I pull my head from the window and head off towards the train – at least I had other reasons for the walk.

The exchange is made in silence now, the girl running the pickup office having been sassed by me one too many times to think I’m still the pleasant Peeta I once was. Now she doesn’t even bother with greetings, simply picking up my parcels and leaving them on the ledge.

I can’t blame her. I’ve been an asshole to a lot of people. It’s how I keep them at bay so I can’t hurt anyone else.

It’s not really a shock then, to feel a rough hand on my arm and my body being spun around, my face connecting with a solid fist. I barely have time to register which pissed off individual it is before I’m collapsing onto the ground as a boot connects with my chest. I feel the air escape from my lungs before I roll onto my knees (knee) and move to stand back up.

“You stay away from her Mellark.” I recognize the voice, and then the yelp coming from behind as Delly comes crashing towards us. Acer stands over me, his booted feet swirling in my vision.

This was probably not how I expected the situation to go. I feel Delly’s hands pulling me up and I shake them loose.

“I can do it on my own.” I say, stepping back. My chest hurts but I’ve taken so much worse before. Delly’s eyes meet mine and there’s a little panic in them, unsure of my next move. I look to Acer whose grimace rides up into his posture. “Look, I’m sorry. It was a mistake. I’ve made a lot of them.”

Acer isn’t buying it. His hands are clenching at his sides as Delly grips his arm. I know she’s told him everything. I can’t blame her. Not really.

“Can we talk, for just a minute? In private?” I’m desperate for just one moment to apologize to her.

“Anything you need to say, you can say in front of me.” Acer’s tone is heavy and thick, loaded with anger.

“I think...” Delly’s voice is soft as she runs her hand up Acer’s arm. “I think Peeta and I just need a minute. I’ll be right back, okay?” The boy doesn’t look like it’s okay but he doesn’t say anything. Hesitantly, she motions for me to follow and leads us to a small alley off the street. We’re as alone as we’ll ever get.

“I’m sorry Delly. I really am, I was drunk and I-“ Her slap across my face is unexpected. It burns on my already pummelled cheek as I run my fingers over it gently. I’ve had worse.

“How dare you Peeta? How _dare you_? Do you have any idea how long... How much I wanted this? You don’t even want me!” She’s whispering so that no one overhears, but it makes my gut churn.

This is not what I had been expecting. I never, well, never thought of this for us. It had always been Katniss. I realize that I’ve probably done more than just invaded her space – I’ve lead her on and pushed for something that we’d never have. It’s a sick betrayal.

“I’ve waited for you for years. Never once has it been more than just friends between us. But since you’ve been back – you keep pushing me! I’m trying to move on and you just keep coming back!”

“I’m sorry.” She steps back from me, her hands on her hips as her hair flies about her face. There’s a look of hurt that’s masked behind her anger. I want to reach out, to hold her like we used to, to comfort her. But I can’t. Not now. I tuck my hands in my pockets and stand against the wall.

“I’m sorry I spoiled everything, Delly. I don’t have excuses. Not real ones.” I, Peeta Mellark, am lost for words.

“I know you’re hurting. What they did to you, it’s terrible. But I’m not going to be your rubbing post. I’m better than that.”

“You are. You’re better than me. Delly, you’re the only one I have.” She gives me an incredulous look and I reach for her inadvertently. “No, I know. It’s not right what I’ve done. I just... I keep spinning and doing the wrong things.”

“You can’t keep doing them.” It reminds me of forever ago – when Delly used to pull me out of my Katniss induced haze.

“I just wanted someone who loved me.” We’re staring at each other now, her face pulled tight.

“She’ll come around Peeta. You’re not alone.” She rests her hand on my arm and I let go of hers. Somehow good, loving Delly is comforting me again. There’s a steady footing now between us that wasn’t there but ten minutes ago. She’s turning to walk back into the street when I can’t hold in my final question.

“Am I allowed to see you? Or is this it?” I don’t want to lose Delly but I know if I have to, I’ll let her live her happily ever after without me.

“We’ll get lunch sometime. Before you go.” She shoots me a wide grin and puts on the happy-Delly everyone knows and loves.

I’m relieved that I haven’t ruined everything for us. I watch her walk off with Acer, his arm strung casually around her shoulder. They’re happy. Delly deserves to be happy.

I spend the rest of my afternoon riding the swings in the park. It’s lonely, but in that loneliness I know everyone is safe. There’s no warnings here. No threats.

Victor’s end up alone or dead. Just like in the Arena.

 


	8. Chapter 8

“Katniss,” It’s the first time we’ve talked in too long. Well, not too long if you consider that I went years without ever once saying a word to her. But it feels too long now; after all we’ve been through, after everything we’ve done.

I’ve waited here since dawn for her to appear at the forest’s edge, the cooling air numbing my ears and making my fingers prickle. I’d watched in the dark of the early morning hours as she’d disappeared into the trees – her sleepless night mirroring mine.

It was that lack of sleep that had convinced me of my current plan. One that would only work if she would play along. Thankfully, as I looked her over, she already had the hardest part taken care of.

“Peeta?” She looked surprised to see me. Not really a happy surprise, it seemed, as the frown pulled her lips down and her brows laced together. I couldn’t blame her, especially if she knew anything of what I’ve been up to since returning home.

We stood apart for a moment too long, staring at each other. It was awkward, if not slightly painful, to be in her presence and not be worth something more to her.

“How are you?” I wasn’t sure how to approach it. It wasn’t a big favour, not in the grand scheme of things, but I needed it.  

“I’m good. How are you?” It was a cold exchange. There was a distance between us now that made my anxiety rise. I hoped she wouldn’t revert to hating me – I wouldn’t be able to bear it if she did.

“Good, I’m glad,” I broke eye contact first, instead choosing to watch my feet scuff in the wet dirt as awkward silence filled the air. She shifted her weight subtly, impatiently, and lifted up her game.

“Alright, well… If there’s nothing more?” Her words were tentative. I was fucking this up royally. Why would she ever help me? I meant nothing to her – we couldn’t even have a real conversation now. She took my continued silence as an answer to her question and began to sidestep me as I stared at my shoes.

Pathetic.

My mind flashed back to another time, very much like this, when I’d been on a date with the florist’s daughter. Mother had watched from the window as she’d walked me home; it had been an awkward night as both of us realized we had nothing in common. But mother had set us up and she expected me to make it work if only for the status. When it had all stuttered out with lame goodbye’s mother had pulled me into the house by my ear and run me against the oak table in the kitchen.

I couldn’t deal with that feeling again. I turned and reached for her arm, startling her with my grip. Her expression curled with panic and then fury as she thrust her arm down to break my grasp. I didn’t resist, surprised at my own actions.

“Sorry… Sorry!” I wasn’t quite sure of my apology. “I just... I need… Can you help me with something? Please?” Her scowl softened, if only just a little, as she watched me ring my hands out nervously before us.

“What do you need?” When had it gotten to this point? When did I make her nearly hate me? Was it because I’d practically abandoned her in my determination to give her space and get my shit together? Maybe I disgusted her now being only part of the man I used to be.

It didn’t matter. I’d deal with that later. Right now, I needed this plan to work.

 

 

We walked through town in almost complete silence as the sun rose up higher into the sky. I’d explained the plan, without much of any detail and she’d agreed easily.

Easier than I thought it would be, at least.

When we finally approached the yards of the bakery, I slipped out of the sight line of the house. I couldn’t very well just wander into the shop like I used to – not when the risk was another black eye (or worse) from my mother. It was a risk, being out here at all, but one I needed to take if I was ever going to resolve this.

I hung off in the distance as she knocked briskly on the door, her knuckles snapping against the heavy wood. I watched as my father answered, a grin spreading over his face as he realized why Katniss Everdeen was standing on the threshold. She lifted the string of squirrel from her shoulder and smiled for my father.

They’d always traded fairly, but nothing more had existed between them that would have garnered that smile from her. I began to worry, a knot tightening in my gut.

I was standing too far away when she began to speak, her words muffled and incoherent from my distance. I tried to read her lips, to understand what she was saying. I watched as the expression on my father’s face faltered and fell, his arms crossing over his chest as he heard her out.

Her voice was raising slightly, an octave higher than pleasant conversation. I knew it was going south before my father turned, closing the door as Katniss turned around and smiled sadly at me.

I could feel the tree bark biting into my frozen fingers as I gripped to it for dear life. What had she _done_? I didn’t move as she approached me, her cache of squirrels still full and forgotten in her grip. Her face fell as she got closer and took in my tense posture. I felt her fingers slowly pull my own from their grip on the tree.

“I took some liberties for you. I hope you don’t mind.” She was rubbing her hands across mine, returning the heat and blood to the icy skin. I couldn’t look at her. I was terrified.

The original plan had required Katniss to trade off her squirrels with my father and then lure him to the trees so that I could see him. Talk to him.

I’d missed him the most. More than anyone else in my life my father had been the one standing figure who I had used as an everlong moral compass. Without him, I was struggling to stay on a good path. I needed to make amends, to have him love me again, before I left on the Victory Tour.

Just in case any of the threats were real. Just in case they weren’t here when I got back. Just in case my mother got in the way.

“What’d you say?” My voice was rough as I struggled to hold in the fear that was threatening to spill out. I forced myself to reign in my emotions and look into her eyes.

“I asked him if he could deliver a cake to the Village later. Apparently Prim thinks it’s Lady’s birthday,” There was a smile tugging at her lips. It wasn’t really Lady’s birthday – her family was too used to non-frivolous practices that a goat’s birthday was almost inconceivable.

And those weren’t really the words that she had spoken.

“Please don’t lie to me, Katniss.” I ask of her. Her smile tightens. Every tiny emotion I know I can read on this girl’s face.

“I told him you deserved better. And that you were dealing with a lot and you needed a father who wasn’t going to be an asshole. And then I gave him an excuse to come by the Village later to see you.” I take in her words as my hands turn over in hers gripping them tightly as our gazes meet. I loved her in that moment. I loved her a thousand times over for her words.

“Thank you Katniss.” We stare at each other for another too long moment and then she’s gone, my hands empty and the space between us spanning infinitely as she walks away.

 

 

I’m only slightly surprised this time when I arrive home to find my door unlocked and a slightly ruffled and drunken Haymitch Abernathy sitting in my kitchen. It’s almost become something to expect, this man here, loitering.

It’s almost something I _appreciate_ because he didn’t abandon me like everyone else.

“Your girl told me what you’re trying to do,” I falter, I wasn’t expecting that. When I turn to look at him instead of the fire I’m building he holds up his hands in defence. I didn’t think my face was showing my displeasure, but it obviously was.

“She’s not my girl and that’s really none of your business.” I step towards the door, intending to have him leave so I can clean up.

“Hey, no harm, no foul, boy. I just thought I’d come to warn you that sometimes people are shit. If he doesn’t show, you need to move on.” His words are harsh. His words are true. I hadn’t considered that before.

What _would_ I do if he didn’t show up? If we couldn’t figure this out? The thought chills me and sets my nerves on end. If my father didn’t seek me out before I left, there would be no reconciliation for us. I’d be on my own. More alone than ever. I rest my hand on the door handle and grip it tight, my head hanging with the realization.

“I get it, Haymitch. He’ll show.” I open the door for him and he doesn’t hesitate to leave me to my own thoughts.

 

 

The anxiety from my meeting with Haymitch has only grown tenfold. I spend the afternoon cleaning my already tidy house, preparing my dinner and then eating alone, looking out the windows at the light shining from Katniss’ house.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed when he hadn’t shown before sunset. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t doubt that he still loved me. I did. I do.

Maybe he can’t take what I’d done in the Arena. Maybe rumour of my actions since returning had gotten back to him. Maybe mother had found out. Maybe he couldn’t deal with me loving a Seam girl. Maybe he’d dropped dead on the street. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

 I sat at the table, alone, as the darkness began to close in. The oil lamp gently lit the paper in front of me as I sketched the scene from the bakery earlier this morning.

I wanted to remember that moment, the one where Katniss had shown for just an instant that she hadn’t given up on me. I was just shading in the dark paint of the bakery’s infernal sign when I heard the gentle rap on my porch door.

My heart nearly burst from my chest when I looked out the window to see my father standing in the dark. He’d come.

Opening the door, I debated internally whether I would get right to it or offer him tea. Father always liked tea in the evenings. And Mellark’s were always polite.

“I’m sorry,” Were the first words spilling from his lips as he crossed the threshold to my house for the first time. I didn’t know whether he was referring to the fact that it was late, or that he hadn’t spoken to me since our fight.

I motioned for him to sit, my lips tight, as I poured hot water into mugs and joined him at the table. He was here but I hadn’t really thought about _how_ to start.

“Okay.” I looked into the settling water as I gripped the warm mug in my hands. I needed to apologize for the way I’d shouted at him and the way I’d treated him the last time we’d talked.

We’d always had a way about us, my father and I. Sharing the kitchen at the bakery we’d rarely needed words to communicate with each other. We’d moved as a team, trusting each other to deliver the orders and keep the shop running.  It was only when my mother joined the mix that we had ever had conflict.

I couldn’t really blame him for that. My mother was a difficult woman.

I tried to hide the resentment I’d always felt for every time he hadn’t stood up to her for us. This feeling wasn’t new, not by a long shot, but it had been exasperated by the distance and the Games and the way she’d forbidden my presence from the shop and my family.

We sat in silence for a while, both too unsure of what to say as we looked into our tea. After a while, I figured since it was my plan I ought to just get on with it.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you that day, when you came here? I was out of line.” Start off with an apology. That’s where you start. He looked up and for the first time, I met his gaze head on. This plan was about more than just repairing our relationship – it was about showing him that I’m not going to just roll over and die, that that’s not the son he raised.

“You don’t need to apologize, Peeta. I should have been there for you. There’s no excuse, I-“ I try to interrupt and offer another word, but he holds up a hand to halt me, “I’m your father and you needed a father. I let you down.” I nod at his words, biting my lip.

“You did. You have no idea how hard it is, coming back after that. It’s not something you just forget and move on from. I killed people.” I say it honestly and watch as his face pales. There’s no nobility in cradling a girl for comfort while you slit her throat to end the pain. I can’t deny what I’ve done and it does no good to try to avoid it. If he’s ever to come around, he has to accept me for what I’ve done.

“I know,” His words are tight and he can’t help but look away from me. I grip my mug tighter and try to keep my panic under wraps. “You did what you had to do to live. It’s hard, but I... I understand that.”

“I did it to keep her alive.” I correct, he wasn’t expecting that, I can tell by the way his eyes snap to mine. Maybe he’d thought that she was a passing phase. I press on, “I love her. I can’t help it.” I’d never be able to help it. I watch as his eyes daze off over my shoulder.

“I loved her mother once,” He whispers softly.

“I know,” I can see his mind recalling the memories as a small smile plays at his lips. He’d told me this before when he’d first pointed Katniss out to me when I was young. Maybe he’d transferred that love to me.

“Dad, I need you to see me off on the Tour.” It’s what I’d been meaning to ask from the start. I hoped he understood the weight I’d placed on those words – how I’d need him there for more than just the goodbye, but to publicly be _there_ for me despite my mother. To say that he still loved me.

I let the silence stretch out for a time as he sat heavily in his chair. Exhaustion was playing on his brow and for the first time I recognized just how old he looked. My father was getting old. I was growing up. We were inevitably growing apart with the Capitol in between us.

“I will.” I barely heard it pass his lips as he finally made up his mind. There was an anxiousness that expelled itself from me with those words.

“You will? Really?” When he nodded in reply I fought with the need to hug him.

The commitment was huge for me. For him. He was going specifically against my mother’s demands to be _there_ for me. I tried to calm my racing heart.

I tried not to feel bad about something that would cause such a rift in my family.

The thought stunned me. I hadn’t considered that maybe tearing apart my family so that I could have a part of it would feel so terrible. It was selfish. My earlier excitement diminished within that moment. I felt my father’s hand on mine as the new framing of the ultimatum reared its ugly head. I didn’t look at him.

“Peeta,” I felt his hand squeeze, “It’ll be alright, okay? Your mother will get over it.” When I didn’t respond I felt his hand leave mine. In that instant I was alone.

I heard the scrape of a chair, the sound of feet, and felt the press of arms wrapping around my stiff shoulders as my father embraced me. I was caught up in the anxiety and fear of everything: Katniss, my family, Delly, the Capitol. Everything. It was all crashing down around me and I was having trouble breathing as the threats and the roses closed in on my consciousness. 

I didn’t fight it as the tears built up and started to escape, my body shaking as my lungs began to scream for air. I gasped, trying to remind myself that I needed to breathe. I was having a panic attack in my own kitchen, with my father, while I faced down my own mind for dominance.

The Capitol really had returned me broken.

My father let me cry it out like I used to when I was five with fresh wounds. His embrace never faltered, remaining strong and holding me together. It was only when I began to calm down again that I recognized that he was speaking.

He was reciting the Tale of the Little Red Hen, a childhood story that he used to read to us at bedtime. I hadn’t once thought about this story since but it calmed me as the familiar words surrounded me.

“...As the little red hen ate the loaf all by herself. It was delicious and she enjoyed it, right to the very last crumb.” He finished. I couldn’t help the bubble of laughter as I listened to the actual meaning of the words.

“That’s terrible,” I grumbled. His arms left me as he rocked back on his heels. He had at some point lowered to a crouch beside me, forcing me to look down at him. His eyes were shining with his own unshed tears.

“You used to love that story when you were young. I guess there’s new meaning for it now though...” He looked away awkwardly and stood up. “Peeta, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize... I didn’t... I was terrified you wouldn’t be _you_ when you came home. It was foolish of me.”

“No. You were right – I’m not the same. But I still need you. I always will. I don’t think I can do this alone?” There. The truth was out. I didn’t want to be alone, to be left to my own devices. He shuffled on his feet in the quiet of the house.

“I’ll talk to your mother,” he paused, grabbing his jacket and pushing his hands into his pockets. “I should be heading home – it’s late. Will you be alright tonight?” I nodded and moved to open the door for him. Though nights were hard, there was nothing that could be done to quell the nightmares.

Just before he stepped off the porch I called out, one last question on my mind:

“What excuse did she give you to use?” I watched my father smile sadly back at me.

“It’s her mother’s birthday. Primrose wanted a cake.”

He disappeared quickly into the spanning darkness, his shadow only visible in the glowing light from the square. I stood alone on my porch for a moment letting the cold caress my skin. Looking out across the yards I took in the vacancy of the other Victor houses, the dim light from Haymitch’s kitchen and the darkness of the forest behind. There was a barren feeling here, in the old Victor’s Village.

As I turned to go inside, to return to my sketches, I felt the cool touch of snow on my skin. Pausing, I lifted my head up and watched as the flakes drifted down. A chill ran up my spine as I took in the sight.

Snow had always been my least favourite part of winter. There was more of an irony to its name now. The Tour was coming. The Capitol was coming. Snow was here.

 


	9. Chapter 9

It’s Sunday, nearly a week before the tour and I’m almost sleeping again. Two out of three nights I manage at least four hours before I’m pulled awake by a paralyzing dream. Most often it’s of Katniss being taken, being killed, being sold.

They haunt me until I see her the next day. When I don’t see her, I don’t sleep.

I’ve realized almost the full extent of my impact on the Capitol. If I screw up, they’re not just coming after me. They’re coming after Katniss and her family, after Haymitch, after _my_ family. I can’t let that happen. Not to any of them.

I stay in line and I stay away from people. I walk the cautious balance between friend and stranger with Katniss. We talk, but only in formalities and proprieties since the day she helped me with my father. I think she saw what was behind my ‘thank you’ that day – the complicated and unwavering love I tried so hard to hide.

No, I didn’t try to hide it, I guess. I just tried to downplay it so that she wouldn’t feel pressed to return it. I was determined to give her space before we would have none on the Tour. We both needed this time to adjust to ourselves as Victors. At least, I knew I needed it – I assumed she did too.

The past few months have been difficult, to say the least. I’ve crashed and burned more times than I’d like to admit. But in a way, it’s been good for me. I see the errors now, I understand the dangers.

I’m currently (blissfully) ignoring the fact that Haymitch will likely have me mentor for him in the next Games. I don’t blame him; he’s been playing this game alone too long already.

When I go to my swing set in the days before I depart, I take the risk. I swing higher, higher, until the weight of my leg is balanced and I’m able to leap. I feel like I’m flying and I’m free.

I don’t like to think about the landing, instead falling heavily on the ground. When the sand rubs in my false joint as I walk home, I revel in the pain of the raw skin. I consider this a small price for the simple joy of flying. I like to think I can use it as a metaphor for my life, but I can’t. Victors have more to think about then their own pain.

Maybe I’ve become a little bit of a masochist. I can’t help it. My choices are no longer for me. That’s what the Capitol took from me more than anything. My choices.

 

 

 

Two days before my departure I go to lunch with Delly. Her parents scowl and frown and Acer stands furious behind the till as she waves from the door. I try not to take a bitter pleasure in doing this for something selfish inside of me that eats away at my resistance.

Delly doesn’t see it as a slap in the face for her family - she insists that they are the ones who need to adapt. I guess I can’t argue with her. She’s been right so often before.

We settle out on a table in the public market, it being too cold to eat outside, pulling free a small packed lunch I prepared earlier. It’s nothing much, but we don’t need a lot. This isn’t about eating – it’s more of a goodbye for me. She likes to call it a ‘see you later’.

Always the optimist.

“Have you sorted out your father yet?” She asks tentatively halfway through her sandwich. I chew quietly and nod. Her face bursts with excitement as she places her food back in its container and pulls me in for a tight hug.

I feel so much better in her embrace. I hadn’t realized I needed this, this unwavering _friendship_.

Wrapping my arm around her in return, I grin into her shoulder. When she sits back down her smile is wide and bright.

“We talked. I think we worked it out...” I drift off, content at the thought. Although I haven’t seen my father since that night, there hasn’t been any backlash to tell me anything drastic has changed.

“That’s good Peeta, really good. I knew your father would figure it out. He loves you too much. During the Games-“ She stops, mid-sentence, her smile falling and her eyes looking to the ground. I don’t know what has caught her words but it makes my stomach knot. I put my hand on her knee and squeeze it gently, hoping she’ll continue.

“Please, tell me? I know nothing about the District during the Games, nobody tells me anything.” I say quietly. It’s true. My self-imposed (but still somewhat locally imposed) social withdrawal has made me nearly completely unaware of the temperature of the District during my Games. I never learned how the story played out here, on the screen and in the Square. I hadn’t really wanted to know until this very moment, I think.

Delly ponders it for a moment, her mouth opening and closing without words. When she finally starts, it’s a whisper and I have to listen for her words.

“Your mother and father had a pretty big fight in the Square one time. It was really terrible; she kept ranting about Katniss and called out her mother, right there in public. None of us had seen Mrs Everdeen in the Square for viewings, not until they changed the rules.” She pauses, looking at me then.  We both knew how that rule change had changed everything. “When you guys were in the cave, that’s when it got bad. Your mother called the little one a whore-“

I suddenly feel ill. I don’t think I wanted to learn this information. It would have been better tucked away. Is that why everyone left me alone? Because I was associated with this vile woman? I return my sandwich to its container and shake out my legs. The metal clinks into a straight form and I have to look away.

“Should I stop?” Her hand is on mine now. I shake my head and stare off. I want to hear it. Need to hear it. If I don’t, I could never look the Everdeen’s in the eye again. “When she said those words in the Square, it got really bad Peeta. Your father nearly raised his fist and none of us knew what to do. He doesn’t hit people – we know that. All of us. But it was just so shocking!”

“What happened then?” I don’t say it to her. I can’t look her in the eye right now, knowing the attachment to this woman is embarrassing and horrible.

“Mrs Everdeen tried to take Katniss’ sister home, but the Peacekeepers stopped them from leaving. And then your mother cornered them and just kept saying horrible things. I think people figured she was just distressed. But she called Katniss a common hoodrat and said you weren’t welcome home if you could love something so filthy. Your father stepped in then and tried to stop her, but then she turned on him, accusing him of an affair and all of these horrible things.

“And when the viewing was over, we heard them fighting all the way home. I think everyone was embarrassed. The Everdeen’s disappeared before anyone could find them but I think they just wanted to get out. We didn’t see them in the Square again...”

I move to my feet (foot) then, brushing my pant legs loose. I need to move, this feeling of panic curdling in my gut. I hadn’t known it was that bad here. I can feel Delly’s eyes on me, watching like a hawk. I can’t say anything, my throat is too dry.

“Peeta, you’re not your mother. People will see that. You just have to remind them. On the Tour, you can remind them.”

“I don’t care what they think of me. I can’t believe what my mother did.” I’m pacing now, my shoulders tense. I don’t know what to do with the rage in me, this rage that never existed before I watched life disappear from behind so many eyes.

“I’m sorry I upset you.” It’s her quietly timid voice that haunts me and I turn to her, trying to replace the scowl on my face with something, anything, less than what I was feeling. Kneeling before her, I grip her hands tight in mine.

“You didn’t. Not you, Delly. It’s just...” I gasp for a breath of air, anxiety pulsing in me. “It’s just that my mother – she destroys everything and she has such a hold on my family. I just want them to be free of her. I want them to be happy.” Delly nods and I know that she understands what I’m saying behind my words. I want my mother gone, for good.

I want my family back. I no longer consider my mother part of that family. Not if she can’t see past her own impossible standards.

We settle back down to finish our lunch in silence and I try not to let the feelings inside of me push to the surface. I’ll save that for later with my paint and my time alone. Delly takes the time to babble on about her time at school, the snow that will fall soon, and her time with Acer.

When it’s time to go, I hold her close, my chin resting on her forehead. Delly is my best friend. She always will be.

“I’ll see you at the train, Peeta.” She pats my cheek and then heads off, returning to her parents shop for the afternoon shift.

Though she heads off, I know I’m not done in the Square.

I need to see my mother.

 

 

 

I make my way to the bakery with a fire in my gut.

Well, maybe I don’t go immediately to the bakery. Instead I sit on the bench where Katniss used to sit, thinking over what I will say and how I’ll finally get this sinking feeling of my mother’s heavy weight off of my chest. Remove her burden from me.

I sit for too long, my fingers and toes going numb in the cold air as I watch customers bustle in and out of the shop door. I can hear the jingle of the bell and a sharp crack of laughter bite from inside. It’s not my mothers.

Now’s the time. Now or never.

Pushing up, I step one foot ahead of the other and find myself going through the door, the bell clinking its gentle tune as I look at Cob staring at me from behind the counter.

“Hey brother, what’re you doing here?” His voice is a harsh whisper, despite its almost welcoming words. He hadn’t ever expected me back through these doors.

“Just visiting my family. Is that alright?” He nods, his head jerking in its movement. It’s obviously not, but I’m past caring. Slowly I stride behind the counter and push into the kitchen where my father is working steadily on a batch of sugar cookies.

I miss this.

“Hey dad,” I say, he turns, his face showing his shock and confusion openly.

“Peeta... Hi,” I watch his eyes flick around and then up, indicating without words that she’s nearby. He’s nervous. “What’re you doing here, son?” His voice shakes and I hate it. I try to bundle up my nervousness and shrug.

“Wanted to come say hi, is that alright?”

“Maybe now isn’t the best time?” I hear the crash upstairs and we both freeze as there are footsteps walking the hallway, heading towards the stairs.

It’s time.

“It was good seeing you, dad.” I turn and face the footsteps then, the anger coming at me like a wave as she appears in the doorway. I watch as her face contorts and her lip snarls.

When did she become like a possessed demon?

“What is this filth doing in my bakery?” Her voice burns.

“Hi to you too, mother.”

“Get out.” I don’t move.

“I just wanted to stop by and ask you a few things.” I don’t know where this confidence has come from; maybe fear has burned me enough times. Maybe I’m past caring. Maybe I was already ready to die for something more. I stand up taller as she grabs the broom from the corner of the room. She takes a step forward and I take one towards the door.

“You’re not welcome here, boy.” I feel my father’s eyes on us, this little dance being played out before him.

“Did you really call Primrose Everdeen a whore? In public?” She swipes the broom at me and I hear my father take a breath behind me. “I’ll take that as a yes. Did you know that she’s only 12? Do you know how _sick_ that is, mother? To think those thoughts?” She swipes at me again and I’m at the door now. My father stands stoic in the corner, Cob idles in the doorway from the shop front having heard the slowly building fight.

Neither is stepping forward and I fight with my own disappointment. I can’t hold it against them, not really. They haven’t had to think about what they would do if we ever stood up to her.

I feel the broom handle connect with my shoulder, returning me to focus. I let my hand fiddle with the door handle, swinging it open behind me as I stumble out. I can feel the bruise blossoming under my coat.

“What mother? Cat got your tongue? Admit it! You called them out for _nothing_ but to be cruel and hateful. You can’t stand me, your son, because I love someone who isn’t pale skinned and blonde! You hate me because it’s _her_ daughter and you can’t stand it.” We’re on the porch now. She swings the handle again and it connects with my chest. I don’t care. I’ll take this beating. At least it’s in the yard this time and not the Square.

“Don’t you try to embarrass me! You did that yourself!” She yells, bringing the broom down on my shoulder. That one hurt.

“You do it all yourself, mother, you don’t need me! You are the one who publically chastised the Everdeens! And for what? To feel bigger than them? You’ll never be better than them. Never! You are worse than the dirt under my shoe.”

“Get off my land!”

“It’s not _your_ land.” I stop backing up, my feet on the edge of the wood. She steps forward and her fist connects once again with my face. It’ll bruise. I hold my ground. “You’ll rot in hell, mother. Don’t forget it.”

She raises her fist again, pulling it back to hit me. I close my eyes, readying for the impact. But it doesn’t come. I hear her startled cry and I look up; my father is standing behind her, her fist in his hand.

“Hit my son again, and I will put you in the ground.” His voice is such a soft whisper that I almost don’t hear it. I watch as her face blanches of colour. I can feel blood on my face and I wipe at it. It’s mixed in with my tears.

I’m not prepared for her lunge towards me, knocking me off the stoop and onto the frozen ground. There’s a scuffle as she pushes me repeatedly into the dirt. I feel her arms pulled away from me, her weight lifted.

“Get out. Get out and don’t ever come back.” My father is standing now next to Matz who has somehow appeared at his side. Cob is still in the doorway to the bakery, watching the exchange. My mother is wiping her hands on her skirt.

“You’ll have me back, just you wait.” Her words are deadly. I can’t believe the scene before me as she heads into the house. When she returns five minutes later with a bag we sit silently on the stoop and watch her go.

We don’t talk, no words being required when I stand to go. My chest aches and it hurts to breathe now. But I stay tall. I look back at my brothers and my father, smiling sadly. I don’t know if they’ll come to see me off, but I hope they will. I did this for them too.

 

 

 

“Peeta.” I hear my name being called from behind me as I struggle on the walk home. I don’t stop, can’t stop, or my leg will give out. Each part of the beating has rendered me sore and has made it difficult to make the trek back to the Victor’s Village.

“Peeta!” The voice calls again and I’m surprised by it. I turn my head, still walking forward, to see Gale Hawthorne striding up behind me. I can feel my heart pound with a little bit of fear. I step a little faster.

He catches up and walks beside me. 

“You alright?” I stop then, looking at him seriously.

“What do you want?” I bite. I’ve got no patience left. Not today. Better to go out fighting.

“I saw that beating you just took.” I feel the unwelcome blush burn up my skin. It’s embarrassing to get beat by your mother. I turn to walk away and he follows. I just want him to leave me alone. “Hey, hey,” He grabs my arm then and I can’t help the pain shooting up and out my lips.

“Get off!” He steps back as if burned. I can see my house now, I’m almost there.

“I’m glad you did it. Does Katniss know what she did?”

“You’d know better than I would,” I reply.

“I don’t think she does. We’ve been waiting for the straw to break the camel’s back since that day in the Square.” I can’t believe the words that are coming out of his mouth.

“Oh yeah? Then why didn’t anyone do it before? Do you all like watching her beat on people? Get a kick out of it?” The rage is building now and I just want to hit something. I never got to hit anything. He must see that I’m no longer playing a game, that I don’t have my wits about me anymore. He changes gears then.

“You’ll take care of her. On the Tour.” It’s a statement, not a question, and I have a hard time with the words in my mouth. Everything I want to say will bring him down with me.

“Are you giving her up then?” It’s all I can ask, the thought escaping from me before I can stop it. His face hardens and I’m instantly back to the hatred that Gale had shown to me at the station during our return with just a look.

Back on an even playing field.

“No.” It’s short and terse and all I need before I turn to stalk back into my house. I need to be alone with just myself for now.

 

 

 

Hours later when I’m settled on my couch, a glass of whiskey in my hand resting on the purple bruise on my chest, I think through what I’ve done. I’ve finally stood up to my mother, the great enemy of my family. It doesn’t have the taste of victory that I expected, but I still can’t deny the feeling of a weight being lifted.

I lift the glass to my lips and take another sip, the burn coating me and pushing away the pain from the broomstick.

When Haymitch stumbles in, the sun setting behind him, I’m a little surprised. I meet his gaze from my spot on the couch and he nods.

“So it’s true then, the word on the street?” He asks, motioning to my bruise.

“What’s the word?”

“That you finally grew a pair that your father never had?” He fills up my glass with what I can only hope is whiskey and collapses into my chair. I take another sip.

“I guess so.”

“What did it for you?”

“She publically humiliated Katniss’ family during the Games.” He nods, takes a drink. He already knew the story; I could see it in his face. “They don’t deserve that Haymitch, not on top of everything else.”  

“You don’t deserve broken ribs either, Peeta.” He replies. His voice is thick and I have trouble distinguishing the meaning in his tone. I try to sit up but it hurts too much. I make it look like I was adjusting myself instead.

“Yeah, well... She heard it now. Maybe she’ll listen.” We both know she won’t. Haymitch grew up with my mother – he knows her better than I do, probably.

“This Tour... Peeta, you need to have it together – you know that right?” Back to business. I sigh and lay my arm over my face. It hurts, but it’s a good kind of pain.

“I know. I can put on a good show; I’ve been doing it all my life.”

 We sit together in silence then, both of us enjoying our liquid poison as the room gets dark. When the only light that remains is that falling in from the hallway, I see him stand shakily.

“Wake me up before the stylists get here, alright?”

“Sure, old man.”

He leaves me to my thoughts then, his exit taking any momentary comfort with him. When I’m alone then, I finally let my anxiety take over. It bubbles up from my chest and comes out in sobs. The stress of being home, of standing up to my mother, of trying to convince everyone – it’s too much.

I wish I could go back then, in that moment. Back to when all I wanted was the girl with the braids and to be happy and have babies and frost cakes. I want my innocence back.

I want who I once was back.

 

 

 

When I put the Victor’s mask back on in the morning it’s bright and brisk outside. The air cleanses me and it feel alright, just standing here with the cool breeze drifting across my chest. I watch Katniss escape off into the trees for her morning hunt before I head back inside to start my morning baking.

I’ll wear this mask for as long as it takes. It’s all I can do now, it’s all that Victors _have_ to do. Just keep wearing the mask. Keep up the show.

 


	10. Chapter 10

Now, I’m not saying that I’ve got this all under control. Not in the least. I’d only gone in to the Games with two things in mind; die my way, and save her. Never did I think about what came after – it wasn’t a thought I could afford to have. Not then.

But now, as I sit on this swing, legs (leg) brushing the sand below and carrying me high up into the sky, I no longer have the luxury of thinking about little things. Now I think about Snow. About the Capitol. About dying for real.

And an awful lot about losing Katniss. I can’t help it, not really.

I haven’t slept that much since I stopped by the bakery.

Okay, in all honesty, I haven’t slept at all. I like to think that it’s mostly because of my ribs, but that’s another thing I’m not too honest about. I still dream about the Games. Every night. And I know that the dreams won’t stop no matter how much I paint or how much time I spend baking. They’re not going away.

I swing higher, letting the cold air seep into my body. There’s a brushing of snow on the ground signaling the start of the winter months. I try not to think about how much I hate the winter.

I kick off, lunging forward into the air, my body taunt in anticipation of the fall. When my feet (foot) touch down, it’s more of a graceful tumble when my knees (knee) hits the frozen ground and jerks into my chest. I lose my breath and it’s like falling and I relish the feeling. Rolling onto my back I let the snow soak my coat as I look up into the clouded night sky.

Tomorrow my prep team will be here. Portia, one friend I’m not sure if I’ve lost, will come to dress me up for the show. And then I’ll be on the train heading to the Districts with the threat of the Capitol looming over me.

We’ll be back to where it all started – in front of the cameras, dressed up for their entertainment, playing to their whims to keep them all happy. When we come home, we’ll have another few months before _we’re_ the ones leading kids off to slaughter.

And then the cycle will repeat. Year in and year out, until we die.

Somehow, I’m not really looking forward to the rest of my life anymore. Not truly. Not if all it consists of is miserable relationships, sleepless nights and terror gripping me every time I close my eyes. All alone.

I breathe in, holding in the scream that lingers in my throat. It’s cold out here and I know I should go home but everything hurts and the numbing feeling is keeping me company.

I get up anyways, pulling myself together. I have a bad feeling about this Tour, deep in my gut and I can’t shake it.

All I can think of now is that at least I don’t have to do it alone.

 

 

 

Haymitch was right – Katniss and I had a lot to work on. Ever since the thing with my father she’d been even more distant than before - this morning was no exception. Our chilly exchange in Haymitch’s kitchen had been awkward and painful. Afterwards I’d returned to the warmth of my sheets trying to take cover prior to everyone getting here. 

I’m loitering in my bed now, not sleeping, when I hear the doors closing and the shouts filling the yard. That’ll be my team, coming to doll me up. I hear the knock on the door but I don’t move – they’ll find me one way or another. It’s rude, but maybe that’s just who I am now.

“Peeta!” There they are.

I listen as they shout around downstairs, banging their cases against the walls.

“Peeta, dear, where _are_ you?” Its Portia shouting now, I can hear her heels on the staircase. It doesn’t take her long from there to find my room, push her way in and sit down on the edge of my bed. She doesn’t say anything, instead choosing to swing her legs up and join me against the headboard.

“Hi,” It’s measly but I’ve never needed many words around this woman. She just seems to intuitively understand. Her fingers brush through my unruly hair as she looks me over. I feel the pause in her movement as her eyes settle on my cheek, then the slowly fading marks on my chest.

“Oh, Peeta. I thought last time was bad – what happened?” Her words are as soft as her fingers as they ghost over me.

“Same old, same old. It’s nothing,” I reply, reaching to the side of my bed where I’ve propped my fake leg. Sighing, she places her palm against me and pushes me back, her quick hands taking the metal from me.

“I thought you said that if you ever made it out you’d show her a thing or two…” Her hands work faster than even mine can as she attaches it to my body. It’s no wonder that she’s quick – she was the one that designed the damn thing.

I remember the first time we’d actually talked during the Games. She’d told me about how she’d gone into designing for the mechanics and the ‘new wave’ of kinetics styles. Cinna had picked her up then, brought her into his fold in the Games, and they’d been inseparable since. I’d been impressed then; only to be more incredibly shocked afterward when she’d explained all of the specifics about my new leg when I’d woken up.

This woman was so much more than meets the eye.

“I don’t need a lecture, please,” I swing to the side of the bed then, dropping my legs to the ground.

“Hey, wait!” She calls as I move quickly towards the bathroom, aching for just one more minute to myself. I don’t expect her fingers on my arm, stopping me. “Where’s the Peeta we know? What are these bags under his eyes? What’s wrong?”

I don’t like the sound of her voice or the way she almost sounds as though she is trying to comfort me. I feet guilty. Resting my head against the wall, I let my shoulders relax from the tension I’d been holding.

“I don’t want to go back, Portia. I’m tired of this.” Her hand rests gently against my spine, feeding me the comfort I so dearly long for.

“It’ll be over before you know it. And then you can come back here and get that happy ending you wanted.” She was saying the words, but even I can tell that she doubted them too. There are no happy endings for Victors, unless you’re Finnick Odair and your happy ending is of a different sort. Only I couldn’t get those either – Snow had made sure of it.

Turning towards her, I put on my smile, my mask. She can see right through it but it doesn’t matter.

“Yeah…” I pause, shoving everything down from where it sits so cautiously under the surface. “Where do we start today?” Her grin matches mine and I feel steady again. It was going to be okay.

“Let’s check your bruising, shall we?”

 

 

 

I don’t know how Katniss stands the hours that she endures with her prep team. Despite the efficiency and speed that mine works, it’s still difficult to keep track of the conversation while feigning interest. I guess I just don’t care for the latest Capitol trends or who’s sleeping with whom. And I really don’t want to talk about the Quell.

When we wrap a little over an hour later, I’m cleaned and polished and ready for the show. My bruises are nearly gone, hidden under a coat of thick makeup, and my skin looks fresh and of the baby soft variety that I came home with. I’ve even taken the time to make my smile reach my eyes, locking away the terrors and looking forward to when I’ll get to see Katniss for more than just a functional conversation.

When Effie arrives with in bright orange I can’t help but fear the tarnished feeling I now have towards my favourite colour.

“Darling! You look _amazing_! How have you been? Oh, it doesn’t matter, come, come! We’re going to shoot your Talent bits now and then we’ll be off just on schedule!” Her voice grates on my nerves but Portia grips my arm tightly, reminding me to put on the show they expect.

Displaying my paintings for the cameras is more than a little difficult. I hear the gasps and whispers of my prep team behind me and I try to force it away. I talk about the scenes, about how they don’t leave your memories so you’re forced to do something with them. I try to keep my words in balance, away from any of the treasonous thoughts that I have.

When I see Portia nod over the cameraman’s shoulder, I know I’ve hit each mark. They wrap up the shoot and then I’m pulled out again to change into my ‘travelling attire’.

“It’s warm, Peeta, stop fidgeting with it!” Portia nearly shouts as she adjusts the waistband in on my pants. She’s frustrated that I’ve lost weight and she’ll have to mend most of my outfits during the trip.

“It might be warm, but it’s a little much, don’t you think? I’ll only be outside for twenty minutes; I’m not dog sledding across the plains.” I couldn’t picture the plains myself, pulling the phrasing from my memories of history class, but it did seem similar to the furry getup she was putting on me. I felt the final stitch go in and saw her hands toss up in the air.

“Fine! We’re done for now. I’m going to go get the team on the train, Effie will be back for you, alright?” I nod, looking at her carefully. I don’t know if I should say anymore or ask for any more comfort. I shouldn’t – I need to get it together. She sees it in my eyes anyways. “It’ll be fine, I’ll be there the whole way, right?”

She pats my cheek gently and presses a kiss to my forehead.

“I know. I’m just worried about how Katniss will be.” It slips out before I can bite my tongue.

“Just use your head.” And then she’s gone.

Minutes later, Effie is back in my kitchen, explaining how the first shot is going to go and that I’m to wait five minutes before exiting my house. When she disappears to “wrangle Katniss” (her words, not mine), I’m given my last few moments of privacy before it all starts again.

I pull in a breath, my fingers gripping the stair railing. Straightening up, I run my hands down my sides, avoiding my carefully styled hair, and slip on my gloves.

I’m ready for this now. It’s just a show. I can give them a show. I can be strong enough for us both on this Tour.

Stepping outside, I walk carefully across the slippery snow towards Katniss. She looks so soft and warm in her fur outfit that I try not to miss the non-Capitol Katniss, the one with the clean face and the unaltered appearance.

When she starts to run towards me, I can’t help that my heart picks up a beat. She’s different here. She looks excited to see me. I don’t understand the change but I’m not going to argue with it – I’ll take what I can get.

I can’t help but stagger back and fall when she collides with me, pressing her lips to mine for a kiss. It feels right, I know it, to be here with her at this moment. I want to never let her go as we lay here in the snow, fur catching everywhere and her lipstick rubbing off on me.

I try not to think that it’s exactly what the cameras want from us.

“Cut! Great shot everyone!” I hear the cameraman call out. We separate but she doesn’t go far, wrapping her gloved hand up in mine.

We make our way to the station, our words few and far between, before we’re split up again for our goodbye shots with our families and friends.

I almost collapse with shock when I see my father and brothers at the station. I go to them, wrapping them up in a hug as they encircle me. I try to drown out the reporter behind us who can’t help but remark that this is a far different scene to the welcoming home I received after the Games.

“You take care, alright?” Matz says. I nod, clapping him on the shoulder.

“I will. The Tour isn’t that long – I’ll see you all when I come home.” Cob nods and steps back an inch or two. I try not to let it get to me, he must not forgive me for pushing my mother out.

“Be safe, Peeta.” It’s my father then who almost has a warning in his tone. I smile broader, not letting my discomfort at his words show.

“See you soon.” I turn to approach the train, only to be enveloped into another giant hug from Delly. I’d half expected her to be stuck in the shop under house arrest.

“You didn’t think you could get away without seeing me first, did you?” She says into my ear. I pull her in close and resist swinging her around like I used to before the Games. That would send the wrong idea, I’m sure. Instead I rest my head against hers for a moment, pulling out all of the strength that Delly gives me.

“I’m so glad you could make it.” My voice is tight, but I try not to let the tension show in my face.

“Me too. Take care of her, won’t you?” She motions over to Katniss and I turn, watching her say goodbye to her sister and mother. I feel my chest get tight and I turn back to Delly.

“Always.” With that, I’m pulled onto the train by a frantic Effie who’s railing off about train schedules.

 

 

 

Dinner that night is full of excited chatter from everyone except, obviously, Haymitch, Katniss and I. They fill the air with words so that we don’t have to, apart from the odd comment here and there. As usual, the food is unreal in scale. I try to pace myself while sneaking small glances towards Katniss.

Since boarding the train, she’s dropped away again. I’m not really surprised with it, but I can’t help but be disappointed. She’s clearly still distant but there’s not much I can do right now to change that.

Later, when I’m dressed for bed, I can’t help but lay awake in my cabin. I think about what lies ahead and the impending Quarter Quell announcement.

How many kids will I take to slaughter? What’s the trick this time?

It makes my stomach hurt and I have to force my dinner to stay put.

I’m not sure what time it is when I feel the train coming to a stop. It’s not unusual for a pause, especially when refueling, so I take the opportunity to escape down the train to the half-open compartment on the end.

Walking the aisles, I catch a sight out of one of the windows. When I take a second look, I’m surprised to see two figures hunched over in the cold, waiting out on the ground.

I’m not stupid. Never have been. That’s probably why I’m not really shocked to see Katniss and Haymitch having a pow wow off-train during a normal refueling stop. It churns my gut as I try not to think about what they’re talking about.

I turn away, heading again towards my original destination. I refuse to let the bitterness that I’m feeling take over as I collapse into one of the cold chairs for the rest of the night.

 

 

 

There is a slight perk to having a lazy prep team – people let you sleep in for longer. Which doesn’t really make much a difference if you don’t sleep _but_ it does give you more time to sit in the quiet instead of surrounded by people who are constantly talking.

When they do come for me later that morning, it’s for the same treatments that they applied prior to the Games. My face is coated with a thick paste that they say is meant to prevent facial growth, my bruises are coated with a cooling cream to help them disappear faster. This includes the one on my chest which they assume will likely be visible should we choose to swim in District 4.

I don’t see myself swimming anytime soon but I try to smile through its icy application anyways.

Afterwards, they style me up and make me presentable for lunch. The outfit Portia assigns to me is again soft on my skin and I’m thankful for the now-proper fit to my pants. I’m even impressed that they resist catching on my metal leg unlike so many other pairs I own.

Sitting with the others at the table, the mood is only slightly more subdued than it was the night before. I look up from my soup when Katniss finally joins us, her Capitol make up now in full swing. She doesn’t look happy – instead she looks drawn and tired.

I wish I could go to her then, wrap her up and tell her it’ll be alright. But I don’t, instead turning back to my meal to eat in silence.

Just as I’m about to dig into the bow of fresh fruit I feel the train coming to an unexpected stop as Effie is informed of a repair that’s required. I’m expecting her slew of frustrated remarks, that’s typical Effie, but I’m not expecting Katniss to fire back at her for it.

I feel my mouth hanging open slightly in shock at her outburst and make the obvious effort to close it. The tension in the room is palpable and everyone looks uncomfortable. I watch as she lifts to her feet and takes off out of the room.

My eyes flick quickly to Haymitch who nods at me, his face serious with concern.

Before I really realize it, I’m out of my seat and following her quick departure down the train. I feel the breeze coming from the door before I see it, swung open and exposing the balmy air to me. I watch her fleeing down the edge of the tracks and then collapsing onto the ground.

In that moment, I see that Katniss and I are very much alike. We’re both struggling to make sense of this post-Games world, only to have it constantly shift below us. She’s struggling to stay afloat, just as I am, and it makes me hurt inside that I’ve spent so much time trying to make it better for me when I should have been helping her.

“I’m not in the mood for a lecture.” She spits as my footsteps pull me closer. I didn’t need the bite of her words to push at me.

“I’ll try to keep it brief,” I snap in reply. Instantly I see her slight recoil and I’m not sure if it’s because she’s surprised it’s me or if she just can’t stand to be in my presence unless necessary.

“I thought you were Haymitch.” I nod, but she doesn’t see it, her head is focused on the grass at her feet.

“No, he’s still working on that muffin.” I lean back, levering my leg up into a more comfortable position. “Bad day, huh?”

“It’s nothing.” It’s a short response and instantly I can see that it’s not _nothing_. I feel guilty. I should have been there for her all these months despite the way she brushed me off. I figure now is as good a time as any to apologize so I go for it:

“Look, Katniss, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about the way I acted on the train. I mean, the last train. The one that brought us home. I knew you had something with Gale. I was jealous of him before I even officially met you. And it wasn’t fair to hold you to anything that happened in the Games. I’m sorry.” My words have stunned her, clearly, but I think I’m the one even more surprised when she apologizes to me too.

We go on, back and forth for a moment, finding an even ground to get our footing on for the rest of the Tour. When I ask again what’s bothering her, she pushes it aside. I let it go, shelving it for now and instead turning the conversation towards more neutral subjects. 

“You know, everyone’s always raving about your paintings. I feel bad I haven’t seen them.” She states. I have a hard time believing she hasn’t seen them, but then I remember that we haven’t really been friendly for the last while and she wouldn’t have had the chance to see them.

“Well, I’ve got a whole train car full.” I reply and then stand, offering her my hand. “Come on.”

Back on the train, she sidelines to apologize to Effie for her manners before following me down to the storage car. When I open the door to the room I almost hear her heart stop as her eyes wander over the images before her. I hold my breath, knowing that her opinion could make or break me, especially given the fact that many of these images showcase her directly.

I try not to be embarrassed of that fact. Try to, being the operative term.

Her words of condemnation strike me like a slap and I try not to take offense. Instantly I want to shove her out but I don’t. I can’t. I know why she hates them. It’s the same reason I do.

But I also know that’s why they must be painted.

“I see them every night.” I loathe to admit it, but it is the reason why they’re so clear. I’d turned to painting in the last few months as an escape from my all too vivid memories that haunted me when I slept. Surely she must understand that.

“Me too.” She confirms. “Does it help? To paint them out?”

“I don’t know. I think I’m a little less afraid of going to sleep at night, or I tell myself I am.” That’s a lie. I don’t sleep. But I don’t want to admit that weakness. “But they haven’t gone anywhere.” And that’s true. A fine line of truth.

She reminds me that Haymitch too has nightmares and I’m already more than aware after having suffered from a knife flung through my arm after one. I’m not hopeful enough to think that we’ll ever really be free of them, but I don’t say it out loud.

We’ve reached a comfortable banter here. Our recognition of each other’s nightmares has put us on an even playing field and I’ve managed to quell my anxiety momentarily.

As the train starts up again, I’m more than happy to join her in the last car where I spent the night prior. We watch together as District 11 spans out behind us, the land spreading on forever. I can’t help the pressure that fills me again with discomfort as the fence rises up around us. Its guard towers and constant hum of electricity renew the gut feeling I had about this Tour and its ominous shadow.

“That’s something different,” I manage, sucking in air to keep my head from going fuzzy. I can tell without words that she notices it too. I can see her shoulders tense out of the corner of my eye but I try not to stare.

I try to lighten the feeling, dissipate it, by asking rhetorical questions to fill the dead air. The silence lingers between us until Effie beckons us to our prep teams. I watch her walk ahead of me up the train and I can’t help but think about what might be coming our way. I know that I’ll do anything to protect her – that hasn’t changed – but suddenly it feels like this is more than anything I can stop.

I don’t think that this is something a simple baker can fix, let alone a pathetic Victor who barely sleeps and is missing a leg. My own brain is not making this situation any better and I hate it. I thought this was all supposed to be easier.


	11. Chapter 11

The shot is still ringing in my head. I can hear it, see it, and taste the air of District 11 in my mouth every time I close my eyes. The beating water of the shower doesn’t wash it away and I almost wish I could drown in here. Almost.

I keep my body here for as long as possible before there’s a knock on the door and it swings open without my permission. I expect Portia, coming to rouse me for dinner prep, but instead it’s Haymitch who seems far more sober than I’ve ever seen him.

He’s not who I want to see, naked or clothed, ever again.

“Time to get ready, kid.” He mumbles. I lift my head off the wall and turn to look at him, still behind the shower glass.

“Are you mad? Leave me alone.” I just wish he’d fuck off already. I don’t need to pretend for him and I won’t waste my time trying – this train, this _Tour_ , is the last place I want to be.

“Get out of the shower. We need to talk. Now.” He barks in return, slamming the door as he exits.

I wish I could disobey him but somewhere inside of me knows that all it takes is the wrong push in return and we’ll all spin out of the careful control that Haymitch seems to have on the situation. For as drunk as this man is, I know he has a plan and that soon he’ll have us home alive again.

I hit my fist against the confusing panel of notches until the water stops and then step free, toweling off and putting on my robe. When I step out of the bathroom, Portia is leaning against my dresser deep in conversation with Haymitch. They both stop when I enter and Portia gets up to leave, casting a comforting smile towards me and a scowl to Haymitch.

So it wasn’t a pep talk then. Good.

As the door closes shut behind her, he turns to face me. It’s like a show down between us, me unwilling to waver in my growing hostility between this man and Katniss, and him so determined to keep everything together. I should have known better – known something was up when I saw them last night off the train together.

“So, let’s talk.” I say, leaning back against the wall and keeping as much distance from him as possible. If I got any closer I might wrap my fingers around his unshaven throat and squeeze.

“You were out of line in that tower.” It’s short and simple and to the point. “You can’t yell at her again like that.”

“Why can’t I? You’re both working together and leaving me out in the cold on all of this. I’m only making it worse! Can’t you see? Can’t you tell that it’s getting out of control?” My voice is slightly panicked at these words but I can’t help it. Couldn’t even if I tried.

“You need to pull it together, boy. You both know that she had no choice to do what she’s done. Look at what you’ve done, you’re just lucky that she doesn’t know – can’t know, by the way – and so therefore can’t judge you for it. Get your shit in line or you’ll both be dead.” There’s a thinly veiled rage behind his words I realize as I turn them over in my head.

“Don’t bring that up. It’s over. Besides, how can you argue this when you’re just as bad? I can’t trust either of you!” I try not to shout and wish I hadn’t leaned against the wall because all I want is to escape when he gets closer.

“She only lied to you because I told her to. We both know you’re better with the people. You understand why we did it.”

“That doesn’t absolve you, Haymitch. This game you’re playing it’s fucking with my head – do you have any idea what’s going on in here-“ I press my finger to my temple so hard that the nail nearly digs into the skin. His eyes falter from mine ever so slightly as he looks to my fake leg and back again. He steps closer again.

“I get it, Peeta. I get it better than you know. But that doesn’t change anything. We made an agreement to get her out the first time around – do you remember that? It’s why I chose her in the Games. Sent her all of the clues – it wasn’t because I wanted to save her more. In all honesty, you’re better off alive. But her, we both promised and we both knew that she had better odds because it was the two of us trying to save her. It’s no different here – Snow will kill her if this doesn’t work.” His words make my blood run cold and I slip on my feet (foot), sliding down to the ground to catch my breath. “Do you understand me, Peeta?”

He’s at my side now, his hand resting on my shoulder, gripping it tightly. He doesn’t smell like stale cabbage and liquor anymore. I nod my head to him, sucking in deep breaths and trying to quell the panic churning in my gut.

That’s where Portia finds us a few minutes later; me huddled against the wall and Haymitch kneeling at my side. I see her eyes burning angrily towards him as he stands and starts to exit. She grips is arm before he goes, exchanging words without sound. Haymitch exits without looking back and then she’s at my side, lifting me to my feet (foot) and helping me towards my bed.

“Come on Peeta, let’s get you ready for the banquet.”

 

 

When I see her again it’s as we congregate for our big entrance prior to dinner. She’s stunning in a light pink dress and I secretly thank Cinna for all he’s done – she looks ethereal. I nearly forget the anger I’ve directed towards her for the past few hours.

Effie instructs us on the basic protocol of the meal and then arranges us together for the arrival. I meet her eyes with mine and hold out my hand, longing to hold her closer for just the moment.

“Haymitch says I was wrong to yell at you. You were only operating under his instructions. And it isn’t as if I haven’t kept things from you in the past.” I know I need to apologize for my behaviour even if my manners hadn’t been engrained into me as a child. Plus, I’m just as guilty, in my own way.

“I think I broke a few things myself after that interview.” She whispers. I squeeze her hand lightly and watch her profile in the dim light.

“Just an urn,” I remember it like yesterday, the relief of telling her for the first time that I loved her. She hadn’t taken it well. She’d seen it as a ploy. And that was the basis of our relationship – no wonder we were doomed from the start.

“And your hands. There’s no point to it anymore though, is there? Not being straight with each other?”

“No point.” I agree. I can’t help then turning over the rest of her words from the tower in my head. The reminder of Gale and their kiss overwhelms me and suddenly it’s as though I would die if I didn’t know everything. I have to ask. “Is that really the only time you kissed Gale?”

I look away from her then casting a glance down the stairs to count Haymitch’s distance. I hope she can’t see the way her words could break me just then.

“Yes,” It’s abrupt and sure and I feel my lungs breathe again. I give her hand a squeeze of support.

“That’s fifteen. Let’s do it.” When we step forward, the light beckons us ahead and we’re blinded for a moment as we approach the excitable crowds. The mood is almost a forced excitement though that makes me nervous.

I tuck it away and continue walking. I’ll keep up this charade for them. I have to.

 

 

Despite the day that started, the evening was among one of the best I’ve had in months. Apparently, when you lock down that cringing feeling of being threatened and watching people killed you can almost enjoy yourself.

Well no, okay, you can’t. Not really. But sitting next to Katniss, getting to touch her and hear her and just, be, with her, well that seems okay for me right now. Maybe it’s because of her that it’s almost okay to forget what I’ve seen.

I don’t know. I’m confused. I should feel more than what I do in the anguish category but I’m almost light-footed when I re-board the train, Katniss’ hand in mine, to head to District 10.

I still can’t sleep though. Hours later when the gun shots fire in my memory and the flash of cameras catches up with me I roll out of bed, reattaching my leg and making to walk the passage ways of the train. It’s eerily quiet as the tracks scrape by below us and the trees whip past.

I make my way to the lounge car and find myself seated in the dark, my gaze entranced by the steadiness of the moon. The feeling of something ominous still tickles at my spine as I look outwards. I don’t know what it is, but if today was anything to note it’s more than likely only going to get worse.

The thought makes me sick inside and I try to curl up but the metal of my limb simply won’t cooperate. I huff out, pushing it forth and quickly unclasping it from my flesh. When it slips to the ground, detached, my body freezes with the motion that I’ve just completed.

I sit with one leg pressing to my chest and the other broken part of me sitting still against the smooth couch. It hurts and I’m not sure if the pain is real or imagined. I look at it for a long time then, taking in the missing skin and bone. It’s not long before I realize that I’m in mourning for what’s been lost and that tears are marking my cheeks.

I don’t know how long I must sit before I hear the chilling scream that’s ripping through the train. It’s louder than the rails, than the wind rushing past, and it makes my heart stop. I quickly try to run to it but forget that my limb is gone and then I’m falling, hitting the ground with a thump.

Pulling the appendage over I struggle to put it back in place, my fingers shaking as the anxiety takes over. When I’ve finally put my Humpty Dumpty self back together again, I’m off like a bolt. The shrieking continues and I can’t help but think the worse as I get closer to Katniss’ private car. I know now that it’s her, it has to be, and the fear of it makes my feet (foot) move faster.

“Katniss!” My fists bang on the heavy door but I receive no answer. I try for the handle and it opens, my body rushing in ready to fight her attacker but there is none.

I scan my eyes around the room, convinced of something more, before realizing that she’s just dreaming. That those _screams_ are just from her own mind. I watch her for a moment, shocked at the unrelenting sound of pain ripping from her.

“Katniss,” I’m on my knees (knee) at her bedside, hands not sure where to land, as she continues to scream. “Katniss, wake up. Wake _up_.”

I don’t know what to do. I’ve never... Nobody I know has ever screamed like this. Not even my brother when mother cracked his arm when he was 12. When she still doesn’t snap out of it, I do only what I can think to do and crawl in next to her. I pull her struggling body up into my arms and wrestle her for power.

“Katniss you need to wake up. It’s just a dream. Come back to me. Please Katniss. _Please_.” I’m practically yelling in her ears but it barely affects her. Just as I’m trying to figure out what’s next she slumps, limp in my arms. Instead of a scream a small broken sob comes from her chest.

She sobs into my chest for what seems like decades before the tears dry out and her breathing steadies. I adjust our stiff bodies and rest her head against her pillow, slowly stepping out of the bed to make my way to the door. I’m reaching for the handle when I hear her voice behind me but I don’t understand her words.

“Katniss?” I let the question linger and keep my eyes on the door – maybe she was just talking in her sleep. When she doesn’t respond, I leave the room slowly closing the door behind me. Outside I try to hold it together and get back to my room.

I make it halfway before I give up and sit on the floor, grasping my head in my hands.

 

 

It’s here that Portia finds me in the early hours of the morning. I’m surprised to see her this early, to be honest, she was never a morning person from the short time I’ve known her. I feel her body slide down next to mine and her hand rest on my shoulder.

“What are you doing here?” It’s a simple question but even that seems too heavy for words right now. I shrug my shoulders instead. “Oh okay. Perfect reason.”

“Don’t sass me, Portia. It’s been a long night.” And it really has. I still haven’t slept and the hours and stress are wearing my nerves thin.

“Well, my dear, it’s time to get you up and moving before miss  Effie Trinkett finds you out here looking all dishevelled just down the hall from Sleeping Beauty’s room. That scenario would just be _unbearable_ , you know.” She teases as she returns to her feet and reaches for my hands to pull me up.

In this moment I’m glad that it’s Portia who found me and not anyone else on this train. She doesn’t bother me for answers to questions that she doesn’t ask. She doesn’t condemn me for my ridiculous behaviour or even scold me for not getting my beauty sleep. Instead she leads me back to my room and hides the rings under my eyes.

When breakfast rolls around, we head off together to join the rest of the group and find out the schedule for the day. The size of the event in District 10 has been scaled down significantly. I no longer have to provide a speech nor am I allowed to read anything but the script.

I don’t need to ask why. Nobody else does either.

I look across the table to where Katniss is sitting with her shoulders slumped. She looks tired and ragged and I wonder why Cinna hasn’t fixed her up to be presentable before the ever-strict Effie. As though her thoughts run parallel to mine, she looks up and meets my gaze dead on.

My breath hitches in my chest. Her eyes look empty.

We don’t break eye contact as Effie prattles on about the next few days. I don’t think either of us are listening, we’ll just show up like usual. Instead I’m focused on her and the way she’s watching me as though she could crawl into my skin.

I don’t even notice that everyone else has finished breakfast before I feel Portia’s hand again on my shoulder. I startle and lose my focus. When I return to look at her she’s already heading out of the room with Cinna, his arm wrapped tightly around her waist.

“I wish it was me.”

“Huh?” Portia asks from behind me. I bite my tongue – I hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

“I mean, I wish Katniss and I could just talk for a bit, that’s all.” Pushing out from the table I lift my arms over my head and stretch out the stiffness in my back. We head back towards my compartment to get ready for the afternoons events.

“You know, District 10 has a lovely room off the Justice Building’s banquet hall. Maybe you two could hide out for a while during the reception tonight.” I’m surprised at both her knowledge of the space and the suggestion that we even try to sneak off. It’s not like Portia to insist something so obviously contradictory to the rules.

Well though, maybe it is. I like her a little bit more now.

 

 

The ceremony goes without a hitch. I don’t remember the Tributes from 10 so it almost is okay. We don’t have to provide personal accolades or anecdotes either and that’s a relief, especially since I was usually in charge of that side of things.

When Katniss’ hand is in mine later that night before dinner I don’t let it go. I hold on for dear life as we wander through the hordes of strangers who pull at us and beg for a moment of our time.

They all want a piece of the Victors, if only to say they had some.

After dessert has been cleared I do something absurd and pull her hand into my lap. She looks up at me, her eyes wide with surprise. I grin in return and place a light kiss on her cheek, pausing to whisper in her ear.

“Let’s get out of here for a while?” I feel her nod against my cheek and I stand up from my chair excusing us both. The people surrounding us grin like fools as I pull out her seat and help her to her feet.

I feel Haymitch’s eyes on my back as we walk away. This isn’t a part of his plan and he doesn’t like it one bit.

We finally clear the eyes watching us as I follow the path Portia told me about. I don’t know where she heard it from – she refused to let me in on the secret, but she was right. When we find ourselves in a wide and open room, one wall to the outside completely open to windows looking out over the fields, I’m astounded by the expanse of the land.

“Have you ever seen something so beautiful?” I ask, stepping towards the glass with a new urgency. Beyond the span of land the sun is setting on the clear sky. The colours make my palms itch for a paintbrush and my senses fill with excitement.

“It’s amazing,” Her reply is quiet and I can sense her distance from me both mentally and physically. I watch the sunset play upon her features for a moment before I turn to her and pull her close into an embrace. She isn’t expecting it and neither am I really, so when she pushes against my chest I let her go.

“I’m sorry, I just... You looked like you needed it.” I try to stem the rejection I feel by turning my body back to the window. We watch in silence as the sun lowers deeper on the horizon.

Just as it’s about to sink below the vanishing point I feel her arms wrap around my waist and her head dip to my shoulder. When I look down, she’s watching me and I smile against the sadness that fills me.

“Thank you Katniss. I needed this.” And I did. My earlier attempt was not just for her – I needed her close to me too. I wrap my arms around her tightly and press a kiss to her head. I’m not sure how long we stand there, holding close against one another, before Haymitch stumbles into the room.

“What the-“ He pauses his spew of words as we turn to look at him. “Oh. _Oh_.” He takes a step back and looks down at his shoes. I can’t help but let out a guffaw of laughter at his awkwardness. “It’s time to get back on the train. I thought I’d warn you before-“

“Schedules people! Don’t we have schedules?” The arrival of Effie has us scuttling back from each other and walking towards the door without a word.

 

 

Back on the train we separate once again into our respective areas. The change in time has surely taken a toll on everyone as they drift back to their cabins and ready for bed. I pass the early evening hours in the art car they’ve provided me with. I paint the sunset as I saw it, Katniss’ profile and all. I want to remember that moment.

The hours pass and the brutal screams from the night before return. I don’t panic this time. I know what they are now. Calmly I set down my brush and briskly head towards her cabin. I don’t knock, instead pushing in and going right to her side. There’s no hesitation when I pull her close and soothe her forehead free of its stress.

“It’s alright Katniss. It’s okay. Come back now, come back.” I brush her hair back from her clammy skin and settle in. She stops screaming then, her fingers wrapped into my painting shirt and pulling it tight against my neck. I don’t mind.

I try to tell myself that this isn’t right, that I shouldn’t be glad to be here, that she shouldn’t be reduced to terrifying nightmares and screams in the dark by herself, but my heart doesn’t care. It’s content where it is, holding her and keeping her safe from herself.

I wish we could find this comfort when we were both awake and coherent. Maybe then it would be better.

After a while I feel her begin to settle back down. Her fingers go lax in their grip on my shirt and her breathing begins to give the tell-tale signs of sleep.

I let my eyes follow her form from the crest of her head to her toes under the blankets I currently lay on. She’s beautiful here with her face calm and peaceful. I brush my fingers from her cheek to her shoulder and back pulling the blanket with them.

Moving carefully, I unclasp her fingers and begin to leave the warmth of her body and the bed. I feel tired now, as I step free of the tangle of warm sheets. I wish I was welcome to stay here with her – to wake up next to her. Turning to leave I hear the same sound I heard the night before.

“Katniss?” I inquire again, this time turning around to look at her again. She’s rolled over and is facing me. I can see her eyes in the soft light of the room, they’re wide and red.

“Stay? Please?” It’s a quiet plea and my heart stops for a moment. I don’t know why I don’t jump for joy or immediately tear across the room at her invitation – it has been what I wanted for years. Instead I stand stoic and distant, turning over the repercussions in my head.

This is what they want from us, isn’t it? The star-crossed lovers, so deeply and foolishly in love. Wouldn’t this rumour be magnificent for them? Wouldn’t it quell the storm brewing?

I walk silently to her bedside where she’s reached out her hand towards me. I take it in mine and crawl in next to her as I place a kiss along her knuckles.

“Always, Katniss. I’ll always stay.” I whisper it against her temple as I feel her relax into the sheets again. When I feel her fingers curl again into my chest I feel like my heart will explode.

I drift off that night thinking not of a Victor’s life but instead that of a boy who finally found his place and his love. I dream of that because here in her arms, I have everything I need.


	12. Chapter 12

I managed maybe three hours of sleep. Maybe a little bit longer, give or take the dream that took over.

I wish I knew how time travelled in dreams. It would change so many things. I’d probably be able to control something in my life for once – if only I could figure it out.

This is what I’m thinking about when I open my eyes to the dark of the room and I can’t help but look at her. Her face is peaceful and calm and I just want to run my fingers across her jaw. I don’t though. I don’t want to wake her from this quiet. Instead I hold still, pausing my breath, and just _watch_ her live. It’s unreal and bizarre but it just... It feels okay.

It takes a few moments of the quiet between us for me to recognize that we’re not the only ones in the room. The sound of our breathing doesn’t add up. My heart has already gone into a subconscious frenzy at the realization.

Slowly, ever so slowly, I lift my head from the pillow and prop my arm up so I can see the intruder. And I will call them an intruder because even though this isn’t my room it still isn’t right to have someone think they can watch someone else sleep. It’s unacceptable even by Capitol standards.

I look across the room and can barely make out the form that slips among the shadows.

Cinna?

He’s there in a chair, his arms crossed over his chest and his head ducked down as though he’s sleeping. The steady pattern of the air moving in and out of his lungs would second that opinion, but it’s hard to believe. That and well, why is he _here_? Of all places?

Moving carefully I pry Katniss from her grip on my shirt. I shift, checking the bindings on my false leg and push myself to stand at the bed’s end. Neither of them stir. Walking over to Cinna’s chair my mind races with the thoughts of what comes next – did he know I was here? Is he a spy?

I try not to let my theories get too out of control but I can’t help it – my anxiety is riding high and it’s late and my mind loves to make up intricate stories about these Capitol people.

Approaching his side I reach out my right arm. My fingers get to his shoulder and instantly his fingers are wrapped around my wrist and twisting. I try to stifle my cry of surprise and then my cry of pain as it feels like he’s going to snap it clean. His head snaps up then, meeting my startled look. I watch his face soften and feel his hand let go as he mouths words that never sound.

Taking my wrist in my other hand and rubbing, I nod my head in the direction of the door indicating that perhaps we should take this outside. I don’t bother to ask him about his cat-like reflexes or where he learned to crack a wrist – he’s probably been trained to capture and take down fleeing Tributes in a heartbeat. To be honest, I don’t really expect him to follow so when he does I know something more is heading my way. We head down to the lounge area and settle ourselves in among the plush cushions.

“So...” I figure it’s best to start us out. He could probably sit in silence forever I assume based on all the pensive looks I’ve seen him wearing since we first met.

“This isn’t a game, Peeta.” Oh, it’s not? So the Capitol isn’t jerking us around to try to keep the District’s under control? I keep my mouth shut tightly in response to his words. He continues on without much pause. “Katniss is scared, no matter which face she puts on. She doesn’t need people to get confused by what she’s doing.”

Haven’t I already been burned by this fire once? Am I stupid? Do they all really think that I’m going to get fucked over again because I can’t let go? In all honesty, even though I know the rules, I can’t help what I feel for her. I can’t _not_ go to her when she’s hurting. I won’t. Pushing my fists into my eye sockets I huff out a breath.

“Cinna, what do you really mean?” I just want to make sure his implications are my interpretations. I feel his eyes on me; hear his legs shift from resting one ankle on a knee to the other.

“I mean, Peeta, that she’s going to be hurt just as much as you if she has to push you away again. The guilt of hurting you hurts her too.”

“That’s life though, isn’t it? Besides, neither of us is going into this blind this time. I know what I’m doing and so does she.” I run my palms against my pant legs and tap my foot. I don’t know if those were the right words.

“I don’t think she does.” He replies after a moment of silence. I meet his gaze again and he looks deadly serious. “I truly don’t think she has a grasp on what her actions impact. Not on you, not on the Capitol and surely not on Panem. She’s careful but she’s not putting all the pieces together properly so when it comes to you, she’s just throwing the puzzle in the air and grabbing the pieces she likes best. I’m just asking you to be careful for you both.”

“It’s just sleeping Cinna.” I interject. It is, that’s all it is. Okay maybe... I don’t know. I get up to move, to pace around the car as the man, ever so calm, sits and watches.

“It might be right now. But you’re not stupid and you’re in it for all the right reasons – she’s still trying to figure out what her reasons are. That’s all I’m asking you to remember.” I pause by the window then and look out at the lands rushing by. I know he’s right, I know I need not get my hopes up for them just to be crushed when she figures everything out. But I can’t help it.

“I think I’m still trying to figure it out too.” I whisper to the glass. I watch my breath fog it up in the cool air instantly illuminating Cinna standing behind me.

“I know.” He replies. I can feel his soothing energy radiating off of him and it makes me relax, if only just for a moment. We stand together in silence, our gazes focused on the outside, before I speak again.

“Why were you in her room?” I’m not going to lie, the question had plagued me since I first woke up to see him sitting in that chair. From what I knew, he had as much reason to be in that room as I did. My eyes catch the reflection smiling sadly and I turn to him then, looking for a straight answer.

“She’s been trying some medications for her sleeping which make her dreams that much harder to break free of. So, when I hear her screams from my room I come and wake her up for a bit.” He pauses, pulling in a breath. “Tonight, I heard the screams start and stop. I was curious.”  He shrugs his shoulders and then turns to leave, obviously heading back to bed.

“Why’d you stay then?” I shout lightly, just before he slips past the doorway.

“Because, my boy, if Effie Trinkett ever caught you two she would never, _ever_ , survive it. Figured I’d be the watchdog until someone got up.” He smiles brightly, his teeth broad and white, before he disappears around the corner.

His reasoning is sound, I know it is, but I can’t help but think that the best solution would be for us to just lock the door should it ever happen again.

I probably shouldn’t let it. It probably will anyways.

 

 

There are no troubles in District 9. We arrive, we speak, we eat and then we’re back on the train. It’s becoming a science now, the way that Portia comes to prep me with the team for these events and then how we get shuttled around.

In the small moments that I do get to talk with Katniss, to hold her hand or play up the deeply-in-love role, I see a subtle change in the way she behaves. She no longer looks like she has other thoughts at the back of her mind that are struggling for her attention. Now she meets me halfway, never faltering and never putting up her walls.

It might only be temporary (I’m not so foolish as to not heed Cinna’s warning) but I’ll take whatever I can get from her because the alternative is absolute torturous misery and I don’t want to bask in that until I’m home alone and can hide out in my room for the whole day. For the whole week, even.

When I go to her that night I try to tell myself that it’s not because I need the sleep that comes nightmare free from being in her arms – I don’t want to use her that way. Instead I say it’s for her, that I’ll go to hold her until she sleeps so that she can find peace.

Heading through the hallways of the train it’s quiet. I wonder where Haymitch is off, finishing his nightcap, and whether he will sleep or simply wander the aisles himself. I approach Katniss’ room almost too quick when I reach her car. Lifting my hand I reach up to knock, only to have the door open underneath me.

I meet Effie Trinkett’s blinding colour swath and take a step back, tucking my pajama pants (which seem like a terrible idea now that I’m here) behind my back. I knew this was stupid. That it was presumptuous. That I should have stayed away.

Kick me. Please.

“Peeta! Oh darling, what are you doing here so late?” Her voice still echoes in that pitch that I’m not quite sure is human. I try not to wince as I see Katniss standing up behind her and looking over her shoulder.

“Oh, um...I...” I stutter over my words and take a step back as she enters my space and closes the door behind her. Shutting Katniss out. I close my eyes for just the moment, holding back the bile that rises as her perfume fills my nostrils. “I came to... I wanted to say goodnight is all.”

My back is against the wall as Effie towers in the middle of the walkway. She blinks down at me suspiciously, one hand tapping its heavily polished fingers on her cheek.

“It is quite late and she does need her beauty sleep...” Her face makes a show of conspiratorially looking around before she steps back and knocks on the door for me. “Just this once Peeta and then it’s back to bed with you!”

We both hear the shuffle of Katniss’ feet coming to the door, the knob turning, before her face peeks out. Her hair is hanging down wet against her cheeks and she looks so young in that moment.

“Katniss, my dear, I am so sorry to interrupt! You have a visitor!” She bows aside and I lift my hand in a quick greeting. This is so incredibly awkward. Go away Effie. Go go go. “Well?” Effie turns to me then, a scolding look hidden behind her smile.

“Effie, thank you for everything. May I talk to Peeta for just a minute?” Effie nods and stands back to grant me closer access to the door. She lingers still and Katniss looks as though she would plant an arrow in her throat if she doesn’t back off soon. I try to stifle a laugh as she grips my shirt and pulls me into the room. “We’re just going to have a _private_ conversation. Don’t worry; I’ll be in bed soon.”

And with that she’s closed the door behind me, shaking her head and wandering back to the side of her bed. She sits down heavily, pulling her knees up to her chest as she leans against the rocking car wall, an overwhelming yawn bursting forth. Before I know it I’m yawning too, catching the fever and realizing that I’m almost just as tired.

“Hi,” She nods in return, looking at me skeptically. “I just... I was wondering if we could, maybe... If you wanted that is – maybe, I could stay?” It takes me too long to get the words out and I nearly choke on each one. She yawns again and her eyes are drooping with each passing minute.

“I think she’s still out there, waiting for you to leave.” We both know Effie will wait to suck up any details she can. I shrug.

“She can wait all night, if that’s okay with you?” I turn back and put my fingers on the lock, offering to shut the world out for some peace and quiet. All I need is the smile that crests her lips to turn it and hear it slide into place.

The patter of knocks come immediately after, Effie’s shrill voice ringing out from the other side.

“Thank you for everything Effie, we’ll be just fine. Why don’t you go rest up?” I shout through the door. The knocking stops and I laugh, turning around to see that Katniss is fading fast. It’s not normal, this unusual descent into sleep. It’s happening too fast.

Especially for Katniss.  

“Are you alright?” I ask, walking to her bed and dropping my sleeping pants on the floor. Her nod of reply is slow coming and she looks a bit dazed.

“Yeah it’s just the sleeping pills she gave me. Helps me sleep.” Her voice is practically slurring the words and I can’t believe that someone would give this to her. I remember Cinna mentioning that they were for the nightmares and I can only imagine what sort of trapped feeling this would cause in limbo.

I crawl up on the bed beside her and shift her downwards, her head resting on the soft pillows. I follow, laying across from her and looking into her heavy eyes. We’re close but not touching. I don’t want to push it.

“Maybe you shouldn’t let Effie give you anymore pills.” I whisper brushing her damp hair out of her face. Her eyes close tightly at my touch and I pull my hand back, afraid to push her too far.

“No, don’t stop. It just feels good.” Her voice is like a caress that’s laced in sleep and I reach out and slide my fingers across her cheek. “The pills help me sleep. Well, at least get to sleep. Otherwise I’m up walking around for most of the night.” I nod, knowing exactly what she means. But still, I’d rather be able to escape my own mind.

“I understand. I just worry is all.” As I say it, I feel her breath evening out into the tell-tale signs of sleep. I continue with my fingers across her jaw, her neck, into her hair, savouring her touch for another moment before I stand and slip on my pajama bottoms.

I don’t take off my leg, still not comfortable enough with any reaction that she may have regarding my missing limb. Even I still haven’t come to terms with it, how could I expect her to? Instead I remove my shirt and slip us both under the blankets and into the warmth of the bed.

I’m jealous of her sleep. Of the way she simply drifts off without a fight. I know it’s the drugs but _still_. I want to sleep like a worn out kid like I used to so long ago. I want to not wake up covered in sweat and tears and to just be comfortable in my own bed.

I don’t think I’ll ever get what I want back and the idea really pisses me off. I’ve talked myself into a jealous anger as I lay here, looking at what I most desire. I’m tempted to leave. To get up and walk out of this room so I’m not taunted by her relaxed breathing.

Instead I turn over, putting my back to her and staring at the door. I don’t know what’s come over me but it makes it hard to breathe with the restrictions in my chest. I grip the blanket tightly between my fingers and lay still, determined to bring myself back to something more balanced.

Sleep doesn’t really come that night. Not fully, anyways. I lay for hours with my bleary eyes searching the dark. She hadn’t been my resolution but maybe, just maybe, I’d helped _her_ find comfort before sleep.

I’ll probably always be searching for ways to make it better for her. As long as she’ll let me, anyways.

 

 

She doesn’t scream that night. Not for the whole eight hours before her pills wear off and she’s able to consciously recognize that she’s wrapped her arms around my stomach and has wiggled her leg in between mine.

I pretend in that moment to be asleep as she carefully withdraws her body from mine. When she’s kneeling over me, straddling in an attempt to clear the bed without waking me, I open my eyes. She freezes, her hair dangling in her face as surprise rushes her features and burns her cheeks. I can’t help the grin that spreads across my lips.

“Good morning, beautiful.” I whisper it to her and the blush deepens. She’s still straddling my hips and if she doesn’t move soon she’ll be feeling something else pressing against her. Shaken out of her haze by my words she lifts herself free and leaps off the bed.

“Peeta! I’m sorry! I tried not to wake you.” Her apology is not needed. Never needed.

“Don’t worry about it. Sleep well?” I shift on to my side, watching her with my head propped on my hand.

“I think so. I don’t remember any nightmares. Did I have any?” She pauses her efforts of digging through her drawers to look at me then, her gaze searching for any word of a lie.

“Not that I can recall. Slept like a rock it seemed.”  Her head quickly nods as she pulls out some clothes, crushing them to her. She looks adorable, all bedraggled and fresh. Without another word, she slips into the en suite bathroom and clicks the lock.

I take a moment in the quiet of her empty room to roll onto my back and suck in some air. I can feel my body tight below my waist and I try to calm myself down.

She’d looked delicious, standing there. Kneeling over me. Pressed behind me.

I _wanted_ her.

Striking the thought I moved instead to drag on my jeans, hoping to conceal the problem with the thick denim. I’m pulling on and buttoning up my shirt when I hear her re-enter the room, her breath whooshing out behind me.

I want to say that I know the feeling but I don’t dare open my mouth.

She comes into view and stands in my periphery as I finish the last button. I look at her then, trying to read her thoughts. She’s scowling, not so much at me but at something else.

“We’re in District 8 today,” She says. I don’t understand the reference, not really. She probably can see it written all over my face. “District 8 is one of the uprising Districts, Peeta.”

“Oh,” Nodding, I try remembering the words that Haymitch spoke in the tower. I’m convinced in that moment that maybe speaking so openly on the train about this isn’t a good idea. I try not to think about the repercussions of having monitoring footage in our private rooms. The thought makes me nauseous.

She presses on anyways, oblivious to my mental musings.

“We’ll have to be really, really, good today Peeta. We have to try at least.” Her words wound me a little. I try not to let it show and she tries not to notice the way my brow must be pinching. I turn to leave, needing to escape the confines of this space. Needing to be alone for a moment. She catches me at the door, her fingers on my wrist.

“What?” She’s surprised at my escape attempt. She’s so clueless sometimes. I reach my face down to hers, my lips pressing to her mouth in a fast and frenzied manner. She gasps and I take the opportunity to run my tongue along the inside of her top lip. My hands have found her hair, her hip, and are gripping her softly to my chest.

I step back when I come up from air, breaking our embrace and the way our lips were just pressed together. She’s panting, her fingers at her mouth as though surprised by them.

“Katniss, I don’t need to try. I don’t need to pretend. We both know that it’s already real for me and it always will be.”

I step out the door, pulling it shut behind me with a quiet slap.

I’m angry. I’m frustrated. I’m fucking aching inside. If this train weren’t moving, oh hell, if I could get to a broken window, I would jump off of it and end all of these stupid goddamn feelings that I have for her. Why can’t she see it? Why does she keep fighting it?

I make my way to my room, my lungs heaving as I open the door and slam it behind me. I realize too late that I’ve shoved things clear off my dresser, the items crashing to the floor with a clatter. There’s a sparkle of glass that splays across my floor and I can no longer hold the anger that’s inside. I let out a half-yell, half-moan that fills the train cart as I get down on my knees (knee) and start picking up the fragile pieces before me.

I’m soon joined by a silent Avox who must have heard the crashing. He joins me on the ground, his fingers wrapping around my wrist as he shakes his head. Telling me not to help. I keep picking up the pieces, determined to not be a burden on this already tortured soul.

When it’s over and my hands are bloody from the glass, I’m ushered over to the bed where the Avox and soon Portia join together and place warm wet cloths over them.

She doesn’t say a thing. She knows of my warning from Cinna. She knows where this action came from. She knows me better than I know myself.  

 

 

There’s no stopping this uprising. I’m as sure of it as I am that the sun will rise.

The people of 8 are quietly reined in by the Peacekeepers who stand in full force around the square. Not one of them has hands empty of a shotgun barrel and absolutely none of them seem willing to compromise.

We don’t see anyone get killed, not like in 11, but that doesn’t mean it’s not happening somewhere else, away from the cameras and the crowds. The feeling of death and murder, like that of the Arena, almost pulses with the crowd.

The mood of the District makes my skin crawl and I’m glad to get back on the train, free from the heavy invisible ropes that seem to bind your chest. I’ve never seen an uprising, not even on television, but I’m convinced that one is brewing here and that the Capitol is worried.

I don’t go to Katniss’ car that night, determined to keep to my resolution to put myself back together. Earlier I had spent the day putting on a show for them all, playing up the foolish-in-love kid who didn’t know any better. Inside, under that disguise, I was clamping down on the frustration and the hurt that were threatening to claw their way out after this morning’s conversation.

I’m not sure how many times I had to bite my tongue, sure that I was going to spit something as vile as Haymitch after a few bottles. But I made it through the day and I don’t think Katniss knew any better.

 _God_ , all I want is her and I want it so badly it hurts.

 


	13. Chapter 13

I’m in a daze when we speed through the events in District 7. I barely remember the passing by of the hours before I’m back on the train and whisking out of the land of tall trees and plaid. The change in time has really started to throw a kink into whatever remained of my normal sleep pattern. Now I can barely tell which way is up.

Portia has been almost essential to keeping me on page. Each morning she reminds me of the date and the location and slips me a little upper that I swallow without complaint.

There. Now I’m no better than Katniss. She takes her pills to sleep; I take mine to stay awake. We’re both slipping into Capitol habits that will likely destroy us in the end.

Oh well.

I settle down to play a solitary game of cards at the lone table in my car. Today we’re heading out to a double header in District 5 and 6, the first in our schedule before a repeat in 1 and 2. Effie has explained that we’ll start in 6 with a sunrise celebration and a brunch and then head out to 5 where we’ll partake in the elaborate evening festivities. The whole thought of keeping up the show for so long makes my stomach ache.

I sit there, watching the scenery for I don’t know how many hours before Portia appears in my doorway with my morning wardrobe. It’s still dark outside but apparently that’s what comes with prepping for a sunrise ceremony. I can’t help but think about how much earlier Katniss had to wake up in order to be primped for this stop.

When we gather to disembark from the train I can’t help the growl of my stomach as it realizes we’re still hours from the closest meal. Pushing the thought from my mind I look around and evaluate everyone’s outfits. Surprisingly, we’re all well put together, almost matching in a way.

I finally allow my eyes to settle on Katniss as she leans against the wall of the car, waiting for the doors to open. Waiting to put on her mask. She looks soft and lovely with her hair draped around her shoulders in a navy lace dress that rests at her knees. I can’t help that my feet head in her direction, my face plastering on a bright smile to greet her.

She puts on one too.

“Hi,” She stands taller to meet me halfway. I lift a hand and brush her hair off her shoulder, exposing a new patch of skin that I wish I could press my lips to.

“You look...” I don’t, no, can’t, finish my sentence. There’s no words for her as she stands here, the blush rising in her cheeks.

“Thank you,” Her reply is almost shy and I have to hold back laughter – what is wrong with us? We’re bouncing around in this confusing game of whether we’re together or not, whether we’re friends or acquaintances and none of it makes sense.

I can’t help but think that this would be so much easier if we didn’t have to put on a facade. If we could just be normal and at home in 12 where I’d ask her out and win her over and we’d get married without all of this stupidity and pomp.

Ugh – I can’t think about this now.

“Are you ready for this?” I ask instead of the thousands of questions that plague me. She nods in return when I hold out my hand to her as I feel the train coming to its full stop. She grips it tightly between her fingers and I can’t resist anymore before I lean down and press my lips to hers.

There’s no camera here in this hallway. No crowds to cheer us on or beg for more. Just our mentor and escort and prep teams who are too focused on watching out the doors to notice Katniss and I pressed into the corner as she places her hands on my cheeks.

When I pull back, I don’t go too far. I can feel her breath against me as the grin spreads across my face.

“I just needed that before I put on my Victor face.” I whisper and finally pull back until we’re standing side by side and facing the doorway and the backs of our teams. I don’t look to see if her face is shocked or masked. I don’t want to know – I’d rather it have just happened and that be the end of it.

The doors of the train slide open with a whoosh and the brisk early morning air of District 6 fills the car and rushes against me. I grip her hand tighter in mine and head out into the gathering crowd of citizens (likely forced out of bed) and Peacekeepers who fill the station.

The ceremony itself is actually quite beautiful, if I have to admit. The people of the District come out together in silence and after the speeches we watch the sun rise. There’s a song that’s sung and a poem read out by the mayor that reminds the people of the essence of time.

When it’s finished, we’re ushered into a grand dining hall where we’re paraded between people and tables and served with platters of fruit and delicate pastries. Initially I’m surprised by the offerings, especially with the climate that I’ve witnessed, but then I’m reminded that this is the district that transports all goods throughout Panem. Obviously they would have first selection at the best produce.

Throughout the morning I almost never let Katniss out of my sight. We stick tight together, sharing kisses and smiles that I’m not quite sure are for the people.

On the only occasion where she disappears from my line of sight I disengage from my conversation with the Head Peacekeeper and locate Haymitch immediately. He’s surprisingly sober when I interrupt a lively discussion on liquor transports.

“Haymitch, a word?” I pull on his arm and lead him to the corner of the room before he has a chance to object. “Have you seen Katniss?” I ask, my voice tight as it forces out the words. All the while I can’t help the swivel of my head as I scan the room for her. Still not there.

“What do you mean?” He turns to look as well, subtly disguising it as raising a glass of orange juice that’s likely liquored up.

“She’s been gone for ten minutes already,” He opens his mouth to respond and I interject, sure to know what he’s about to ask. “No – I don’t know where she went. One minute she was speaking with the Mayor’s wife and the next she was gone.”

We both see Portia approaching us, a huge smile on her face that falters slightly when she takes in the panicked look that’s hiding under my mask. She steps a little quicker towards us.

“What’s up?” Her voice is bubbly as she joins us, her back to the crowd. Both Haymitch and I sidestep her slightly in order to keep watching the crowd. I feel her hand on my forearm, gripping it tightly and bringing my focus back to her.

“Katniss is AWOL,” Haymitch responds for me as he raises the glass to his lips. Portia’s eyes never leave me and I can feel them burning into my skin.

“Did you check the women’s room?” Both of us turn to her then, surprised at the obvious likeliness of her answer. She nods quickly, “I’ll go check.” And with that she’s gone and heading in the direction of the dark hallway across the room.

It’s not long before more strangers from the district join Haymitch and I, pulling us into a conversation that neither of us want but can’t escape. I take the lead and put on the show while I leave Haymitch to be his reputed terrible self with people – I know he’s watching for Portia’s return just as I am.

Another ten minutes stretch out and finally Portia returns from the hall, alone. My chest constricts and I say my goodbyes to the couple in front of me, rudely heading towards Portia without stopping. She’s in a hurried conversation with Cinna who disappears just as I arrive. I try not to feel at ends with myself.

“Did you find her?” I whisper anxiously. Portia continues smiling, her mask never wavering.

“Yes. She’s taking a breather.” I can only half relax. I need to see her. Need to make sure she’s alright.

When I reach the door to the women’s room I’m surprised to find it locked from the inside. I knock on it quickly, calling her out. As the door swings open I’m slightly surprised to find Cinna on the other side and not Katniss.

“Is she here?” I don’t push my way in although it’s all I want to do. Cinna holds the door open wider to grant me access and I step inside to hear the heavy wood click shut behind me. Cinna is gone and suddenly I’m alone with Katniss who’s sitting upon an ancient settee.

I look at her then and find myself startled by her disheveled form. Her hair is mussed and her dress’ back zipper is undone exposing the bumps of her spine.

“Are you alright?” I keep my feet planted where they are, sure that if I were to approach her it would not yield the results I want.

“Yes. I was having a moment. Couldn’t breathe. Didn’t get any sleep last night.” Her voice is thick and I can tell by its tone that she’s spent at least a small amount of time crying.

I hate that I know exactly how she feels.

“Do you need me to get you anything?” She looks up at me then, her eyes heavy and vacant.

“No. I’ll be fine.” I nod in return, my hands shoving into my pockets and rocking back and forth on my heels. She raises her eyebrows in surprise.

“What?” I ask lightly.

“Why are you still here?” She’s confused why I’m in this bathroom right now? Really? I try to stifle a sigh.

“Katniss, we’re in this together.” She scowls and I do my best mocking impression back at her, teasing out a small smile. “We are. Besides, when you return to the hordes of people I want them to think it was _me_ that made your hair look that ridiculous.”

That gains me a laugh and then the tension dissolves and we’re both cackling like rabid jackals.

I join her carefully on the bench as we both fight to catch our breath.

“Seriously though, Katniss, I’m here if you need me. We’re a team, alright?” We meet each other’s gazes for a moment, her sizing me up and judging how honest I’m being. I still don’t understand why she doesn’t trust me.

“Will you ever let me go, Peeta?” This I’m not expecting and I’m sure the uncertainty of it crosses my face because she looks away and back to her clasped fingers. “I mean,” and she’s talking to the floor now, “Will you always love me, no matter how long it takes for me to make sense of it all?”

I don’t answer immediately. To be honest, I know my answer is yes. Unequivocally. But I can’t help but think of my actions with Delly and Arkose back in 12 and I have to question my intentions. Can I really keep being hurt by this girl? Can I keep the bitterness of my own mind from staining my love for her?

“Yes.” My answer is low and surprises even me with its certainty. Her body shifts ever so slightly and I feel her thigh rub against mine. When still she remains focused on the whites of her knuckles in her lap, I reach my hands over and cover hers with mine.

We let the moment drag on in silence, no words and no tears fill the quiet of the bathroom until there’s a knock at the door and Effie’s voice is calling us out and telling us it’s time to go.

“Schedules, schedules people!” I insist in my best ‘Effie’ as I stand and pull Katniss to her feet as well. I stand behind her as she looks in the mirror and rubs the make-up from under her eyes.

“Give me a hand?” Her stare meets mine in the mirror and I frown, confused for a second before she motions to where her dress is still unzipped. My sheepish smile appears when I step forward and pull the zip upwards, my knuckles just barely grazing her shoulder blade in their ascent.

We stand like that for a pause longer before Effie calls to us again.  I have to suppress a laugh at the way Effie’s face contracts in horror when Katniss pulls it together and walks steadily towards the door, swinging it open and brushing her finger across her lip in a subtly sexual way. Anyone paying attention would recognize that intended meaning.

“Sorry Effie dear, we just wanted to finish our... conversation.” She winks at me then, playing her hand perfectly as she pushes out past our stunned escort.

The trip back to the train is quiet as Katniss curls towards me in the back of the car. Neither of us says a word towards the glare of Effie or the questioning look that Haymitch tosses back and forth between us and our escort.

 

 

If I had one word to describe the celebrations in District 5 it would be tired. Exhausted even. Not only are we beat from the full day of prep-sell-rest-prep-sell, but the people and the District itself just look downtrodden and sad.

When we pack ourselves back onto the train as dusk sets in the team is no longer even trying for words. Within moments of the doors closing with a quick snap behind us everyone has dispersed to their own solitary cars and I’m left wandering my way into the open train car at the end.

As the machine pulls out, I watch the Peacekeepers surround the tracks in a horseshoe formation. The gated fence slides down and the District is back into the lockdown that first greeted us. I fight the feeling of being trapped that floods me as I stretch out on the couch, wrapping my arms tightly around my chest.

It’s in this same position that I’m startled awake from a dream only to find another body in the room, breathing deeply on the floor below.

Katniss.

I twist myself to look down to where she’s fast asleep, her back pressed into the couch and facing out to the disappearing land before us. I feel my body relax and sink back into the cushions as I match my breathing to hers.

I drift off again and it’s not until dawn that I wake and find her gone.

I’m convinced that there’s a good possibility that I imagined this latest scenario.

 

 

“I wish you’d let me teach you how to swim,” I jump a little at the voice behind me, the touch of a hand on my back. The beach has brought out a side of Katniss that I’ve never seen before as she skips towards the ocean. She looks free and not just in the physical sense but in the one where her mind is truly able to be happy.

It’s not for the cameras. It’s amazing.

“I’ll never need it. Back in twelve the only thing I have to swim in is my bathtub.”  I insist as I sit heavily in the sand. Truth be told, I don’t think I’d be able to swim with my anchor leg weighing me down. I’d probably drown in some horrible mess in front of all of the Capitol.

They’d lap it up.

I watch eagerly as Katniss joins the children of District 4 in the tides of the ocean. They play games, they swim, and they look happy. I’m glad for once that Effie insisted on a whole day in the District. We would never have this moment if she hadn’t.

When it’s time for the official ceremony to begin, Cinna and Portia have dressed us up in outfits that pay homage to the ocean. The blue tones and golden lines are smooth along our bodies making us glow against the sunset backdrop. Despite the beauty, the crowds win out after the speeches as they begin to chant Katniss’ name.

It’s unnerving and I can’t blame her when I feel her instantly tense at my side. It sets me on edge as well, the way the mood of the district transforms into something close to that of 8. These people want vengeance and they want us to give it to them.

“There’s nothing we can do that can stop this,” She whispers into my ear, pretending to hold me close.

“I know. I’m starting to think we never could.” Her grip around me tightens for an instant longer before she again looks out at the people of District 4. We watch as a fight in the back of the crowd breaks out and my heart skips, memories of 11 flashing through my head.

With that, we’re ushered back onto the train and thrust into our separate rooms by unannounced Peacekeepers.

It’s easy to see that they must really want us out of here.

 

 

I feel the night crash in on us faster than usual.

Dinner is served to me personally in my room; the Avox assigned not even daring to look me in the eye. There’s a note from Effie on my plate which requests that we all stay sequestered in our rooms on the train until the travelling Peacekeepers depart in District 3. 

I tear it up into tiny pieces and discard my meal by the door, my appetite lost.

The hours pass slower after that. I let the gentle noise of the train lull me into a calm state as I watch the roof of my car with a new found interest. When the small knock comes on my door, I’m startled back to reality, unsure if it was even real.

When it comes again, I’m off the bed in no time, swinging open the door to see Katniss standing before me in her night clothes.

“Fancy seeing you here,” I joke, stepping aside to allow her quick entry. I poke my head out the door, checking the hallway for any intruders before closing the solid frame quickly and turning to her. “What’re you doing here?”

“Can I sleep here tonight?” Her words surprise me, but then Katniss always is able to surprise me with her forwardness. I nod slowly, carefully, as I try to gauge her reasoning.

“You can. But why? Aren’t you just going to take your pills and drift off?” Her face tightens into a scowl and I’m unsure of how steady the ground I’m on is.

“I stopped taking those damn things. They did more harm than good.” Without further explanation, Katniss disappears into the bath and I’m given time to change into my shorts and crawl into bed. As though she was waiting for me to do so, she re-enters the room, flicking off the overhead light and joining me under the sheets.

We don’t talk. Instead, she stares at me and I stare at her as we both must realize that this is the first time neither of us is impacted by external influencers. This is our choice, to lay here with one another.

“What are you thinking?” I ask, my words breaking the silence that stretches between us.

“Just about today.” She doesn’t elaborate, instead making me dig for more.

“Did you enjoy the beach?” I press further.

“Yeah, I did. It was fun to play with the kids, to swim in water where you feel lighter than normal. It’s almost like freedom. But then you come back to everything and it’s like hitting cement instead of grass – you know? I mean, the way they chanted. I just want to forget it. I don’t want that to tarnish my memory of this.” I rub my hand up her arm comfortingly, my eyes searching hers for something I can’t put my finger on.

“I understand.” And I do – she’s not the only one standing up there in front of all those people.

“I just...” She starts and stops a few times before it all comes tumbling out: “I just want to _forget_ Peeta. Make me forget. Please.”

Before I put two and two together she’s pressing her body against mine and kissing me with fervor. I’m too shocked to respond for a moment as I hear her nearly whine in the back of her throat.

There. That’s what I’m waiting for.

I press back towards her, my tongue running against her bottom lip begging for access. She complies and soon my breath is mingling with hers and her taste is filling my mouth as my body melds against her. It's too much but it's not enough. My hands are at her breast, over and under her shirt, gripping and touching. I feel her hands at my waist, shoving into my shorts and grasping me fully. Her calloused hands manage a few strokes before I'm back in my right mind, pushing off of her with a start and gasping out for breath.

Too fast. Too soon. Not like this.

I can't look at her. If I do I'll surely see her bruised lips and ruffled clothing, all signs welcoming me back into her embrace. Instead I hit my head back against the wall of the train car, the thud ringing out and forcing stars into my vision. This is not how we make each other forget – it can't be. I need more than this. She needs to see that we both need more than this.We don’t talk after that.

When I lay back down beside her, my body calmed again, she doesn’t lift a finger towards me. We both know better. We both know not to push it tonight.

 

 

I wake up a few hours later, the edgings of the nightmare slowly fading as I realize that the star of them is still right here beside me, her breath continuing to filling her chest.

I hadn’t even realized that I’d slipped into sleep until I woke up with my body feeling lighter but my mind heavy with the burden of new imagined tortures. Looking down I see the reason for the feeling of lightness – my fake leg has been detached and is currently sitting against the side of the bed.

I don’t remember removing it which only leaves the obvious possibility that Katniss has removed it herself. Looking down to her calm face, I feel the blush creep up my cheeks at the idea of her seeing me broken beyond repair.

It makes me a little queasy and I shift quickly to grab the leg and reattach it. When her hand settles on my arm I look down and her eyes are wide, staring at me honestly.

“You don’t need it, Peeta,” Her voice is heavy with sleep. She closes her eyes slowly as her arm pushes me back down beside her. “I like you just the way you are.” Her body presses in closer to me and I feel her leg slip between mine as her head tucks against my chest. I can feel my heart beating out of control and I can’t even bother to slow it.

I love her in that moment. Just as I did when she sang the Valley Song. Just as I did when I saw her in the rain. As I did in the Arena. As I did after my father.

If there was anything worth that Arena it was Katniss. Plain and simple.

I’d just been a goddamn idiot not to go after it before the Reaping. But I guess that’s part of being a Victor – seeing to late the value in your options before you no longer have any.


	14. Chapter 14

I wake up after a relatively restless sleep to find Katniss still in my bed, her back to my chest and her body pressed against me at every angle. It takes barely a second for me to realize the state of myself, and then another to feel the hot creep of embarrassment run the length of my body. And then I feel it.

Katniss is awake too. And she’s encouraging this. I could have died, right there. Rolled over and just let her have at it. Be finished with it all. To say I’m surprised would be a waste of goddamn breath.

But as her butt grinds into my erection I’m lost for words. Instead, I move to wrap my arm around her torso, placing my palm upon her stomach and holding her closer as my hips return the favour.

I bite my lip, determined not to call out, only to be rewarded by the small sounds escaping Katniss’ lips. Her fingers find mine and we weave them together, her hand guiding mine to her breast where we squeeze lightly over the thin fabric. I feel her chest press towards my hand and I can’t help but mimic with my hips, matching her push for push.

With each breath, my nose tangled deeper into the mess of her hair, her fresh scent intoxicates me. I’m spinning and falling and it feels unreal.

Removing my hand from her chest, I quickly brush her hair off of her neck and press my lips to it. Her pulse beats wildly against her skin, against my lips, as I lick and kiss the tender flesh.

Refocusing, my hand returns to its ministrations on her chest for a single moment before her hand has rejoined mine, sliding them down across her stomach and then back up below her shirt. She’s soft and warm and I can’t help the way my breath comes out in vicious pants as my hips rub and my fingers twitch on her taunt nipples.

I’m again rewarded for my efforts with a moan, deep from her chest that I feel rising in her throat. I’m coming undone with the feel of her.

With her ass pressing harder against my aching self, I can feel the heat of her core radiating through our layers of clothing.

It’s too much. Too good. I’m losing it.

My teeth gently bite down on her neck as my hand leaves her breast and works its way down, down, down into the waistband of her pants. I pause there, my fingers tracing circles above her, waiting for permission.

“Don’t you dare stop, Peeta Mellark,” It’s a panting whisper, straining from her lips. It’s all I need before my fingers dive down into her warmth, sliding against her slick folds. I feel her cry out then, not just a moan but a shout. I press my lips to her jaw, her neck, behind her ear, anywhere to feel her closer as my fingers slip against her.

Our movements become almost frantic as our bodies forget the thrust and focus instead on the rub of each other. The layers of fabric are too much and I want nothing else than to be free of it, but somewhere in me I know that this is a dangerous game we play.

I slip my fingers deeper into her, the heel of my hand pressing and eliciting new sounds that nearly drive me over the edge. She’s pressing into me, her breaths growing heavy as her body shakes. I’m nearly there; ready to spill over at any moment, eager for something more.

It’s when I feel her nails clawing my arm and her thighs clench tight together that I let go, my hips pushing into her and forcing my cock deeper against her heat. I come in a shaking mess to the sound of her moans filling the car and echoing against the walls.

We don’t move after that, my hand remaining lazily tucked against her as we struggle to pull oxygen into our lungs.

And then the wave of panic hits me. I can’t even control the way my heart speeds up and my air becomes tight in my chest. My body tenses and she can feel it and it’s awkward and terrible and not the way that any of this should have gone. I roll stiffly onto my back, my hand pulling free and my arms resting at my side like logs.

I don’t know what’s come over me but it’s like an elephant on my chest as I try to think my way out of regretting what we’ve just done. She didn’t deserve to be used like this, like a rubbing post for my uncontrolled urges. She deserves so much more. Every time I do let myself get out of control something bad happens.

What if the Capitol finds out?

Suddenly the image of Katniss wiping her lip in front of Effie crosses my mind and I sit up with an urgency that must make me look crazy.

I feel Katniss at my back, whispering and trying to soothe as I rub my palms into my eyes and gasp for fresh air. It’s not enough. I’m on a ledge and I’ve just jumped over. Oh, _God_.

“You need to leave, Katniss. Before they find you here.” The words come out muffled by my hands and I feel her still her movements behind me.

“What?” She’s in front of me now, quick and silent, looking me in the eyes as she pulls my hands away. “What did you say?”

I move my mouth but no words come out. She needs to go. Needs to get back to her compartment before anyone figures out she’s here.

“Peeta.” Her hands are on my cheeks now, lifting my face to meet hers. Her brow is furrowed and she’s not smiling anymore. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

“Katniss, you need to go. They’ll kill you if they find you here. They’ll take you away and I’ll never see you again!” I feel my volume reach a level that is nearly unreasonable. She doesn’t stray her eyes from mine, her fingers running up my face and into my hair, stroking it back from my face with a gentle caress.

“They’re not going to kill us, Peeta. This is what they want from us, remember? Foolishly in love?” And suddenly her words have made it worse. I realize that she’s right, that this is what they want, but that isn’t how it should be. I begin to doubt in that moment if what’s just happened was even real. If she did it for any other reason than to get off and use me just like she had in the Games.

“Give me my leg.” I watch as her face pinches at my sudden change of topic.

“What?” She sputters, sitting back on her legs slightly.

“My leg. I’d like it please.” Her eyes widen then with understanding and she rolls away to grab it, moving quickly back to put it on for me. This is so much worse. Clearly I should have never touched her.

I thought I was ready. I _wasn’t_.

I brush her hands away impatiently. I’m drowning in embarrassment.

“I can do it, I’m not an invalid.” I can’t help the harsh tone of my voice, or the way my hands grasp the cold metal and make quick work of the attachments. When it’s on, I shove from my spot on the mattress and stand, pulling my ruined shorts off of where they stick to my skin.

I need a shower. I need to get out of here.

Without another word I snap the door to the bathroom closed behind me, turning on the water with all of the dials. I shed my clothes and step in as I let the heat and the steam seep into my body.

 

 

I take too long in the shower. I did it on purpose. Maybe she’s gone. Maybe I won’t have to look at her until the ceremony.

Maybe I can pretend to be sick.

Who am I kidding? I am sick. I shouldn’t have done that this morning. Hell, I definitely shouldn’t have acted like an asshole afterwards.

My time in the shower had given me plenty to think about – especially the unexpected way I had reacted to it all. I suppose in a sense I’d been looking forward to this for most of my life so when it actually happened, of course I would screw up the landing.

I shouldn’t have panicked – though that seems to be more common since the Games – instead I should have actually cherished her like I’ve wanted to do for so long. But I threw it in her face and lost my marbles.

Now I’m in the wrong as I hide out in my bathroom, unable to re-enter my room for fear of making this whole thing worse. Fucking kill me now.

Placing my hand on the door knob, I inhale deeply.

She’s still there, sleeping on the floor on the other side of the door when I open it.

I am possibly the worst person ever.

Carefully, I kneel down and lift her into my arms, angling us towards the bed where she’ll surely be more comfortable. I place her down within the sheets and she stirs, her hand gripping my clean shirt between her fingers.

“We didn’t do anything wrong.” She whispers. Her words shock me and I feel unsteady again.

“Katniss, I shouldn’t have-“ I start to speak as I sit on the bed at her knees, my fingers picking at a loose thread in my pants.

“Oh, stop it. I wanted it just as much as you did.” She interrupts, rolling on to her back and resting her hands under her head. The lift of her arms has raised her shirt slightly, exposing the smooth skin of her stomach. I just want my hands on her again.

I am the _worst_.

“Yeah, maybe, but still. We didn’t even talk about it or anything. I don’t know. I guess I just expected...” I pause, not even sure myself what I’d expected. I try again, the words tangled on my lips. “I guess Katniss, I guess I just didn’t know if it was you or the Victor Katniss. The one who puts on a show to get what she wants.”

I hear her suck in a breath at my words, sure that they’ve hit a sour note. I’m not going to lie, the weight of them has been lifted from my chest now.

“I’m sorry Peeta, but that really hurts. Hearing that. I didn’t realize... No. Never mind. You’re right, I’m sorry.” I don’t like her apology. I don’t really need it; I just need her to understand where I’m coming from. Why I freaked out. Well, half of why I freaked out at least.

I turn to face her then, my hand resting on her hip. She meets my gaze and I can see the vulnerability in her eyes, the pain and uncertainty that I’ve caused with my words.

“I’ve wanted you for a long time. We both know that. It’s just hard – after the Games everything got so much harder to read. I can’t even tell if we’re being real with each other or if we keep putting on a show. I don’t want you to pity me or give me what I want because you feel guilty. That’s all.” I shrug, my eyes averting hers again as I look to the floor.

We let the quiet of the train pass over us as the rails creak below the floorboards. We’re speeding too fast for anything to catch up and I’m not talking about the train.

“Peeta. Just...Can you just remember that there aren’t any cameras in here? That this-“ I see her wrist flick casually about in my periphery, “this is not a show?” I feel her body move into a sitting position, feel her legs fold next to me. “Do you really think I would be here, in your car, if I didn’t want to be?”

I look at her then, my eyes tired.

“I think that you’d do what you need to do to survive.” I mutter.  I watch the hurt flash over her features before she looks away, her brow curling into a frown. My eyes never leave her as she shimmy’s to the side of the bed, her legs slipping off the edge as she mutters something and stands. I grip her hand in my fingers before she’s too far away.

“What was that?” I prod gently. She looks back at me, her spine straightening and her jaw tight.

“I said that I don’t need you to survive.” She pauses, letting her words sink in. I feel my heart bottom out, convinced that it was all a charade. I nod to myself, letting go of her hand and looking anywhere but at her. She stays rooted in front of me and I can feel her body close to mine. “Peeta,” Her voice is so quiet, so soft. I know her next words are going to crush me. “I need you so I can _live_.”

She doesn’t stick around after that, bolting from the room in her tangled sleep clothes.

I stay seated on the bed, sure that I’m just confused or lost or god knows what else. She needs me to live? What? The sudden feeling of not knowing where exactly I stand is back and I just want to throw something.

I lay back, turning over the conversation in my head as the morning light begins to stream through my car window. It catches me in the eyes just as Portia enters my room with the smell of rich coffee.

“Peeta, as much as I love you kid, I’d really appreciate if it didn’t smell like sex when I get here in the mornings.” Her words are intended as teasing, a constant game that she’s played with me and my obsessions since 74.

Only this time she sees the look on my face and the stress in my posture as I sit up. She doesn’t say a word. 

 

 

Have you ever seen the inside of a computer? I hadn’t. That is, I hadn’t until I arrived in District 3. The place is absolutely filled with computer innards and I’m surprised. Well, as surprised as one can be when you’ve never used a ‘keyboard’ or a ‘motherboard’ or any of the other _amazing_ and _innovative_ gadgets that the big wigs of 3 push in our faces.

To be honest, the jargon, hell, the word _computer_ throws such a kink into my level of understanding that I feel myself zoning out even more than I had on the other District tours. I know machines – I understand the working parts of those – but these don’t even have _gears_.

Okay, to be truthful which is more real than honest, maybe I’m not paying attention because every time Katniss looks at me there’s something different in the tilt of her head or the way that her smile lifts up to the side.

During my prep time I’d peppered Portia with metaphoric questions regarding my conversation with Katniss. She’d obviously made the connection but was too kind to call my bluff. Instead, she’d answered truthfully to every one of my scenarios.

We’d decided that Katniss had actually been hinting at feelings stronger than just the Victor mask. That maybe she’d been saying that she really cared for me.

I was still trying to figure it all out.

Dammit, why is she more confusing than this stupid _video game_? Tossing down the controller, I stand from my station and look around to where everyone else is mingling in the dark room.

Surrounded by all of this technology, I’m again reminded that no matter how disadvantaged District 12 actually is, the Capitol has few friends in the Districts. The mood among the workers in 3 ranges from slightly displeasured to outright hostile as they talk amongst each other. I hear a small aging bespectacled man talking to Haymitch about the latest in monitoring and spying equipment and all I want is fresh air and sunlight.

Pushing my way free of the crowd I make my way to the balcony of the office. I’m surprised that they would bother with something so relaxing in a place that seems to relish in the dark. Leaning forward on the rail, I look down at the people as they scatter around below us.

The buildings in 3 are surprisingly tall, stretching up into the skies. It’s not a large District, not by any means, but the population here seems to be thriving. Apparently they prefer to live like bees in a hive, all centered into key locations.

I don’t envy them.

I’m startled out of my solitary watching by an unfamiliar voice at my back.

“It’s odd, isn’t it?” The woman looks to be about mid-thirties with dark hair. I feel as though I know her from somewhere, but I can’t place it. I cock an eyebrow in return, confused at where this conversation started.

“What is?” I ask, looking back out to the surrounding buildings. She steps up beside me, her feet going in between the rails as she leans further over the edge. She makes me nervous, this stranger who’s nearly ready to fall over the side.

“The people. All hiding... So much chaos yet nothing...” She leans over a little more and I want to grab her belt loops and pull her back.

“All the Districts are odd in their own way,” I reply. I don’t really understand where she’s coming from so I can’t really add more to the conversation. She doesn’t seem to notice anyways. I’m saved from the impending awkwardness of this conversation by Haymitch who comes to round me up.

“Volts is looking for you,” He grumbles to the woman who pushes herself back from the railing and onto her feet once again before she drifts back into the room. I watch her disappear, confused by her words. I don’t get long to think it over before Haymitch is taking me by the elbow and dragging me back through the crowded room.  

We finally stop when he pulls me into a dark room lit only by the glow of red images on the television before us. A quick glance at the screen and I feel the blood creep up my cheeks at the very adult images playing out.

This is incredibly awkward and I actually wish I was back on the balcony with that woman.

Thankfully, Haymitch wastes no time in shoving a piece of paper into my palm and closing my hand around it.

“When you’re back in your room, look for these. They’re installing them while we’re here – that’s what the Peacekeepers were for.”

I’m confused. What is he talking about?

He must see it on my face because he sighs heavily and takes the piece of paper back, opening it and raising it so the red glow illuminates it.

“This, is your car. These dots are monitors. You need to remove them when you get back. They should be the same in Katniss’ car, but if not, maybe you two sharing a bed for the next few days isn’t such a bad idea.”

The meaning of what he’s saying takes a moment to click in before my blood begins to run cold as I realize that the Capitol is bugging my train car. I can’t help but wonder how drunk old Haymitch figured this out, or why he thought to tell me in the happy endings room, but it doesn’t matter. I’m thankful for knowing this.

“Alright. I’ll clear them out tonight. Is that all?” I ask, pulling at my collar as the voices from the show get louder. Get more uncomfortable and similar to those that Katniss and I were making in the wee hours of the morning.

Time to go.

I don’t wait any longer for my mentor, instead choosing to push my way back out into the groups of people to locate Katniss as soon as possible.

 

 

The ride back to the train is relatively quiet apart from Effie’s reminder that tomorrow is another big, big, big day.

We’ll be – unfortunately – participating in another double header tour day that takes us through both District 1 and 2. Neither are places that I ever wish to go especially not if their Tributes in the Arena were any indication.

When we finally arrive back at the station I take charge of Katniss’ sleeping form, carrying her comfortably into my room for another night.

As soon as the door is shut and locked, I take out the careful diagram that Haymitch has provided and get to work on destroying the newly installed devices. I’m not exactly sure what I’m supposed to be looking for before my fingers come across a tiny coin like device that is stuck to the underside of my bedside table.

It doesn’t come loose when I try to pry it free so instead I take the heel of Katniss high heel – cleverly removed, might I add - and crunch the spike into the metal. It cracks and I think that I’ve managed to destroy it enough.

Just to be sure I hit it again, severing some of its wires.

I move on to the next one, and then the next, not stopping for anything.

“What’re you doing?” It’s been an hour and it’s now dark outside, the train moving along at an unknown pace as Katniss sits up in my bed. I bring my finger to my lips and motion for her to stay quiet, intent on finding the last two devices that are somewhere tucked into my bathroom doorjamb.

I bring her heel down on the last metal case and feel it crunch as I breathe a sigh of relief.

“Sorry, here’s your shoe back.” I hand it to her carefully, standing instead of sitting beside her. Since this morning I’m not sure what she wants from me.

“What’s going on?” She asks again, tossing the shoe and then joining it with the other across the room.

“Haymitch told me about monitoring devices that the Peacekeepers were installing. Figured we should get rid of them sooner rather than later.” I reply. I watch as her face displays her confusion.

“Oh. He never told me about it.” She whispers. I can see the slight lingering hurt that plays upon her features at Haymitch’s unintended rejection.

“Don’t worry about it. He figured since we stayed here together last night that we’d probably just keep staying in my room. Besides, you wouldn’t have wanted to be in the room when he told me about it.” I add, a smile growing on my lips with the intention of putting her at ease. She nods, accepting my explanation without much input.

“So... I can sleep here again tonight?” Of all the things to ask, that’s what she asks? I huff out a breath, kneeling in front of her.

“Remember what I said in 6? No matter what.” I grip her hands in mine tightly and press a kiss to her cheek.

I know that I could never _not_ love her, no matter what I did or she did or the Capitol did. This morning’s events, in the long run, don’t matter.

“Let’s go get some hot chocolate,” I pull her to her feet, offering her her shoes which she turns her nose up at.

We spend the rest of the evening in the games room, trying our hand at the available board games that the Capitol has provided us. We struggle to relate to any of them, including the game of _Life_ that looks to be as old as time.

When we curl up together that night, our hands grasped tightly between us, I don’t think about the next two days. I don’t think about how we’ll be home soon and how this will all come crashing down around me when she’s able to freely live again.

Instead I think about the way her hair smells and the gentle way her brow furrows when she sleeps. 

The Tour is almost over and soon I’ll be home again, facing off with my mother and trying to stay afloat in my lonely Victor house because that’s what Victor’s do.


	15. Chapter 15

“Good morning, good morning, good morning, the sun is on the rise!”

Effie. Go die. In a hole. Possibly with some mutts. Please. _Please_.

“Come on dears, no time to rest!” I feel the sheets ripped off of us as my hands clutch tighter to Katniss. She doesn’t flinch and I can tell she’s still deep in sleep.

Thank God we’re still clothed.

I lift my head and blink, looking around the room to where Effie is puttering around fixing my curtains and checking for dust.

This woman just will _not_ leave.

“Effie, we’re up, go away now.” I mumble and shift to sit up – it’s all I can do as my leg is once again beside the bed. Katniss. I feel her arms tighten around the new location on my hips and I can’t help but smile down at her as her brow tightens. There were no nightmares last night.

“Peeta! We’ve got a busy, busy day ahead of us! Katniss absolutely _must_ meet Cinna for her styling.” I watch her through bleary eyes as she reaches down and grabs at my metal appendage, examining it like a new gem. I feel my cheeks heat up, embarrassed for my false limb.

“I appreciate the wake up call. Please, could I have that back?” I reach out a hand towards her and she startles, her gaze whipping to mine as her eyebrows disappear under the curl of her wig.

“Oh, I am sorry! Here, here!” She hands it quickly to me, blushing and backing away from the bed where Katniss still lays. I feel her fingers on my back, playing with my waistband. She’s no longer asleep, just putting on a show. Does she _want_ me to die of embarrassment? Because I will if Effie sees me pop a tent.

“I’ll make sure she gets to Cinna soon. I promise.” I make to attach my leg and she takes it as an effort to truly heed her warning. I close my eyes and listen as the click of her heels disappears down the hallway of the train car.

She doesn’t even bother to shut the door – this woman knows what she’s doing.

Huffing out a breath, my arms collapse below me and I fall back onto the mattress with an emphasis.

“Katniss,” I whisper, her fingers now focused on the trail of hair on my stomach. For some reason the Capitol let me keep that bit.

“Yes?” I feel her breath on my cheek and roll over to face her, my fingers sliding up her ribcage under her shirt. Her eyes aren’t open.

“Ten more minutes.” I breathe and pull her close as my hand settles on the smooth skin of her spine. It’s here in her arms that I’m warm and comfortable. I don’t need to pretend that I love her because here, in this moment, I really do. Nuzzling my face into her chest, her smell overwhelms me as her hands dip below my waistband and I feel her brush against me.

“Peeta?” My body tenses with my name on her lips and her hand surrounding me.

“We shouldn’t.” It’s absolutely the last thing I ever want to say to her. Ever. There’s a smile on her lips as her hand moves up and down my length.

“And why not, Mr Mellark?” I almost don’t have words – robbed of them by her hand and the way it’s waking me up in a much better manner than five minutes earlier.

“Not that I don’t appreciate this, but one, Mr Mellark is my father. And two, the door is wide open,” I feel my breath moving in pants with each stroke of her hand. At mention of the door, she pauses and I can feel her turning over and away from me.

“Dammit.” Her hand fully withdraws from my pants and I regret every damn word. When she turns back to me, a frown on her lips, I lift my hand to her cheek and kiss her. It’s soft and slow and she tastes of sleep and warmth. When we break apart for air her hands are on me again, resting against my chest.

“Beautiful,” I whisper, placing a kiss against her forehead as I sit up and ignore the ache in my groin. I clip my leg on securely and shimmy off the mattress while she watches every movement, a dangerous glint in her eye.  I move to pull out a pair of clean sweats and head towards the bathroom.

Just before I pass the threshold I turn back. It takes every little bit of courage I have to get these next few words out, but the look on her face is absolutely worth it.

“I need a shower – are you going to _come_?”

 

 

Effie doesn’t come back – instead she sends Haymitch.

Haymitch who’s sitting on my bed when we exit the shower, our lips pressed together and my hands in her borrowed robe. I hear him cough from behind her and look up, surprised by the old man who’s lounging in my sheets.

“Will you two lock it _down_ , for God’s sake.” He huffs, getting to his feet. I feel Katniss tense beside me as she looks over to where our Mentor is roaming.

“Haymitch, what are you doing here?” He barks out a laugh and head’s towards the door.

“Apparently babysitting. Now get your shit together, your prep team is getting antsy about your nail polish not having enough time to dry.” I look quickly down at her as she smiles sadly and walks stiffly towards the waiting door. They don’t look back as Haymitch grabs her arm and leads her down the train.

I can’t quite make out their angry words to each other before they disappear through the connecting pathway of the cars. I’m not sure if I really want to know what they were saying anyways.

It’s only moments after they’re gone that Portia appears in my room with her kit and a garment bag. She’s not smiling and she looks stiff. Something’s wrong.

“What, no jokes for me today?” I ask, sitting down in the chair near the window and watching her pull various accessories and sets of shoes together from my wardrobe.

“We’re late.” She snaps. My brows furrow in confusion as I watch her fiddle with the bag’s stiff zipper. Slowly, I join her at the task and try my hand at pulling it down. It opens without a hitch and I step back, watching her as she removes the covering in a hurry.

“That’s never bothered you before,” My words are careful and measured, unsure of what’s happening right now. She turns to me then, her face hiding her veiled anger.

“You don’t get it – do you Peeta? Things are not good here. Things are not what you think they are. Everything we do has an _impact_.” I’m taken aback by the force in her words, by her assumption that I don’t know that my very existence has an impact on others. I’m just about to lash back at her when she turns away, pulling the suit free and thrusting it towards me.

I take it carefully in my hands, resting it over my forearm as I watch her move around the room. She’s restless and agitated and there’s something more here than just what she’s said.

“What else, Portia?” I’m prepared to take a lashing – to be the one for her to rest a burden on. She’s always been there for me, even when I didn’t deserve it. I could do this for her. When she finally stops pacing and pauses at the window, I step closer and rest my hand on her shoulder. “Portia?”

It’s quiet and I hope at least a little comforting. I feel her hand snake up and rest over mine as she turns towards me.

“District 2.” She squeezes my hand and looks to the floor. “It’s my home. I...” Her voice catches on the words and she steps away and towards my bed. She sits onto it heavily, her back straight and her face masked. “I styled Clove when she was younger.”

“Oh,” She looks at me then and the panic in her eyes makes my heart beat into my throat. I don’t know what I was expecting but it was definitely not this. She’s from 2? I thought all stylists were from the Capitol? And Clove? What? I nearly drop my suit to the floor as I take a step back and look anywhere but my bed.

I stop trying to work it through my head and disappear into the bathroom to get changed, unable to handle her hands on my body right now.

I don’t know why it bothers me – it shouldn’t. But it does. District 2 is where the Peacekeepers are trained. They’re the most loyal to the Capitol, if not for District 1. How can she treat me with such kindness and yet be one of _them_?

Trying to push it from my mind, I slip into my suit and exit the washroom to see her still sitting on my bed. My fingers struggle with my heinous tie when she looks up at me again.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you Peeta. I wasn’t sure if you’d trust me.” And that’s all it takes for me to without a doubt forgive her and trust her again with my life. I can’t hate her for being from a Career District. She’s been nothing but good to me since I first arrived in the Capitol.

I’d go so far as to say I nearly owe her my life.

“It’s alright Portia. I’m glad you told me.” I feel my fingers fiddle with the tie for a moment longer before I look over to her and grumble, “I still can’t get this damn thing.”

She’s on her feet in no time, her nimble fingers flicking the fabric into place like an expert. Her laugh is still tight when I joke about the shoes she’s picked out, but her smile is back and I can see that she’s trying her best.

When we meet the others for breakfast we don’t have the option to stop to eat. It seems like our jaunt in the shower has completely thrown Effie off of her schedule and into a timeline chaos that only she knows the utter depths of hell for.

Still, it was worth it to see Katniss in the full light of day, bare as the day she was born. Though we’d only washed each other, it had been amazing.

Man, I was falling down that hole they told me to stay clear of. I was falling fast.

Grabbing a muffin, we’re ushered off the train and into the cars where we wait for Katniss and Cinna to join us. They’re late and Effie is losing it.

“Finally!” Effie huffs, swinging the door open as we watch Katniss stumble down the train steps in her heels as Cinna puts a coat over her shoulders. She looks flustered but lovely in her peach dress that clings in all the right places.

I hand her the muffin knowing she’ll need it more than I will as the cars pull away from the train and we head the short distance to the center where we’ll be doing the Tour stop. It’s right in the middle of where the two Districts connect; a place of gathering for the rich to mingle with each other.

When we pull up to the towering building I feel my stomach sink. The sign overhead looks eerily similar to the symbol that I recognized on each of the Career Tributes tokens during the Games. I look steadily across the car to Haymitch, raising my eyebrow in question. He quickly nods in reply, understanding without a word.

This is the Training Center. The Careers Training Center.

I feel my foot begin to bounce on the floor of the car as the nerves take over.  Katniss rests her hand over mine on my knee and I look to her and grin, desperately trying to mask the fear that’s creeping over my body.

She can see right through the mask and for a moment, just a second, she frowns.

“Katniss!” Effie is out of the car and holding the door open from the outside, her shout pulling Katniss’ attention from me. Without another word we climb from the vehicle followed by Haymitch who pulls out a flask from his pocket.

I grab it from his hand before he can protest and suck back a long burning sip. The cameras see, Katniss sees, Portia frowns.

Good. At least this way I can write off anything risky as just being drunk. Taking a page from old Haymitch’s book.

He grabs the flask back from me, his eyes measuring my state of mind before he tucks it safely away without another word.

The inside of the building is even more clinical and white than any building I’ve ever seen both in the Districts and the Capitol. It’s impressive in both size and construction, the ceiling vaulted too high as the hallways open up into the large atrium. From above I see the students crowding the rails, pushing each other for a chance to see the Victors. Some smile and wave, others scowl. I just want to shudder.

“Isn’t this school _amazing_?” Effie nearly screams with delight as she leads us forward towards the stage. I try not to run in the opposite direction as the feeling of being trapped in a pit of viper snakes struggles its way into my chest. I reach for Katniss’ hand and grip it tightly, the sweat from my palms making her skin slip against mine.

I know her eyes are on me as we walk forward, the crowds parting for us. When we finally reach the stage at the end of the line and ascend the stairs, I feel my body start to thrum again with pent up anxiety.

And then Katniss’ lips are on mine, her hand gripped around my tie and pulling me close to her. My arms wrap around her desperately, clutching her close as I return the kiss. Breaking apart, she brushes her cheek against mine and asks me if I’m alright.

As a show of both dominance over these Career Tributes, as well as a play for the cameras, I pull her lips back to mine and deepen the kiss. It feels wrong to use what has become something I treasure as a ploy but I need to do it to hide the way my breath stops in my chest.

Finally pulling back, she smiles and I can see the hot anger through it. I’m in trouble – she knows what I was doing. I try to apologize with a look, but it’s not enough – it will never be enough.

I’m nearly saved by the bell when a gong rings out through the hallways and even more students flood the atrium. It’s overwhelming the way they pack in, pushing the Tributes families to the front center of the room. None of them smile. None of them even breathe, I’m pretty sure.

It’s an awkward thirty minutes as the ‘Principal’ of the ‘school’ reads out a script regarding honour and strength. When it delves into the nitty bits of ‘doing your part’ and ‘fighting the good fight’ I can’t help but roll my eyes.

 Who do they think they’re kidding?

When it’s time for our speech, Katniss surprisingly steps forward and takes the lead. It’s only for a few moments, but it gives me enough time to pull myself together and read the rehearsed lines. At the end, we turn, hand in hand and retreat to our seats. Out of the corner of her mouth she whispers quietly:

“Don’t fall apart, Mellark.” Apparently I took too long to speak. Apparently I was losing my golden touch. This is a disaster. Like a bomb going off just outside of the Capitol.

At the end of it all, there is no clapping. There is no celebratory motion. We’re lead from the stage and out the door to our cars without haste.

It’s only within the safety of the car do I finally breathe as I let my head fall between my knees. I’m gasping for air as I hear Katniss climb in after me, her voice calling out to the waves of sound in my head.

I’ve never been happier to finish a stop than I am at the end of the District 1 and 2 ceremony.

 

 

Back on the train Katniss is lead off to her room by her prep team in a quick effort to turn her around in time for the banquet. She doesn’t want to be separated, I can see it in her eyes, but I can do nothing to help as Cinna apologizes with a look.

“Let’s get you ready for tonight, alright Peeta?” Portia says, leading me back to my compartment and shutting the door. She doesn’t smile as she pulls from her pocket a selection of pills every colour of the rainbow. I watch as her tiny fingers pick through them and select a few, thrusting them towards me.

“What are these?” I ask, sitting on my bed and unclasping my leg. I want it off, if only for the moment. The relief nearly has me groaning.

“They’re pills.” She grabs my hand and pulls it out, forcing my palm flat as she dumps them. I look up at her carefully.

“What kind of pills, Portia?” She looks at me incredulously, her mouth agape.

“The kind that deal with your panic attacks, or have you not noticed those?”

Honestly, I didn’t know what to call them really. I just knew they made me feel terrible and off balance. I close my palm around them and tuck them in my breast pocket. I keep one out to further examine it while she rustles through my closet for a new set of clothes.

“What do they feel like?” I wonder aloud, turning over the small tab in my fingers.

“Like you’re floating. Like you’re on top of the world. Just take it Peeta, we don’t have time to mess around before dinner or Effie will be down my throat.”

In a quick hustle I’m changed and repolished with the pill still clutched in my palm. I struggle with the idea of medicating my tension away – especially in the public eye – but somehow I trust in Portia’s advice.

Heading out the door again, back into the cars, I pop the small tablet and dry swallow it down. I greet Katniss with a kiss as she steps off the train, surprising us both.

“Are you alright now?” She whispers to me when we’re sitting close, my hand on her thigh as we watch District 2 go by.

“I’m better now that you’re here.” I mumble into her neck as I press my lips to her pulse. I hear someone clear their throat but I don’t stop until Katniss pushes me away.

I feel fantastic.

I look to Portia who grins sadly in my direction as she nods slightly. _This_ is what the pill does. Fuck.

 

 

“Can we just sleep tonight? Like last night?”

I pull my hand back from her chest with a snap at her words. Yes, yes I can do that. I roll over onto my back and feel the tightness in my body begin to subside. She takes a quick moment to sit up and reach for my leg, unclasping the bindings in a learned and careful manner.

I try not to feel awkward as she does this – I know it doesn’t matter to her, but it still seems to matter to _me_.

When we lay back down, it’s silent as we each recount the event held in our favour.

The banquet had gone decent enough. I’d tried desperately to keep a level head despite the way my body had rebelled at any turn. I figure they all just thought I’d had a little too much to drink or was finally getting to the next base with Katniss based on the way I was with her all night.

Truthfully, I’m a little embarrassed and ashamed by the way I acted. To be honest, I’m surprised she’s even here next to me after the way my hands were on her nearly the whole night.

I’m such an asshole. I never should have taken that pill.

“I’m sorry for tonight, Katniss. I didn’t...” I pause, taking in a breath. “I didn’t mean to make it awkward for you. I’m truly sorry.” And I am. I love her too much to treat her this way. Beside me I hear her shift in the sheets, her body scooting closer to mine.

“It’s alright Peeta.” She replies and I can still smell the sweet magnolia perfume she wore earlier.

“No, it’s not.” I insist. I don’t know why I’m pushing it – all I know is that I want her to hate me for the way I treat her.

Hate is easier to handle than this tentative middle ground that will come crashing down around us sooner or later. It’ll come crashing down around _me_.

“What did you take?”

“Something Portia gave me. She said it helped with the... the attacks I was having. Like what happened at the school today.” I wrap my arms across my chest protectively as I recount the feeling. “I thought they would help.”

Her hand brushes its way across my forehead, pushing the loose hair out of my eyes. I can’t help but sigh at her touch.

“You’re alright Peeta. You’re safe.” With her words I reach up and capture her hand, pulling her fingers to my lips and pressing a kiss to her palm. I clasp her hand in mine and rest it on my chest.

We lay there together in a comfortable silence as she begins to drift off. I hear her breathing evening out beside me and I can’t help but think about what it will be like to no longer have the privilege to sleep next to her.

The thought hurts in my chest, in my heart. I never want this to end but I want so badly for us to be home and away from these Capitol games.

I wished the Capitol didn’t exist. I wish I was never a Victor. A small part of me, a very small part, still wishes I’d died in that Arena.


	16. Chapter 16

 

I don’t know what wakes me up first – the terror lacing my dreams about a mutt chewing both Katniss and I to pieces or her screaming in my ear as our limbs pull out of the infinite tangle that they’ve somehow managed during sleep. Either way, both options are terrifying and make my blood run cold as my eyes snap open and try to focus in on the darkness blanketing us.

There’s nothing here; only the soft hum of the train below us barreling towards the Capitol and Katniss’ quiet crying.

She’s still sleeping when I look down towards her, her legs still entangled with mine as her face rests where my chest once was. There’s a place in my chest that hurts to see her suffer.

“Katniss, it’s just a dream. Wake up now.” I place my hand on her shoulder and gently shake her, trying to rouse her from this nightmare, but she doesn’t wake. Instead her hands shoot out in every direction, palming for something to grip. Her fingers lock onto my wrist and drag me back down and level with her.

“Prim! _Prim_!” And it’s the same guttural yell that she shouted at the Reaping, the same scream that got her into this mess in the first place.

“Katniss!” I shout, my fingers ghosting along her jaw and holding her head steady as she begins to thrash. Her leg kicks out and connects with my missing limb and the pain is blinding. I can’t help the yell that claws from my chest as the pain radiates through my body, numbing and making my limbs seize. I don’t know where it’s come from, but it’s like a burning fire in my veins.

I don’t know how long I lay there immobile, her screaming and me clutching at my broken body, but we’re not alone when I’m able to move again. I don’t even notice the body in the corner of the room, watching us as I try to wake her.

“Katniss, wake up, please.” I press a kiss to her forehead and pull her body flush with mine, resting her head in the crook of my shoulder. My arms wrap around her and hold her steady as she fights against me. Her words turn to shouts and mumbles that are incomprehensible.

And yet still, I hold on, hoping that she’ll come out of it soon and be alright again. She needs to – this is tearing me apart.

When finally she rests, her body slumping towards me and tears spilling onto my chest, I breathe deeply again. The panic has passed, though both of us surely feel its ache.

“Katniss, love, it’s alright.” I whisper into her hair, my arms never leaving their place wrapped around her still shuddering body. Feeling for her pulse under her skin, I press a light kiss to her neck, working my way up towards her face and her lips. Her eyes are wide when I reach my destination, settling upon her lips with a slow meeting.

“I’m sorry,” Her voice is strained and broken, a worn telling of the screams from earlier. I brush my nose into her hair, breathing her in and holding her impossibly close.

I would be a liar to say that her dream hasn’t spooked me as well. It has. Those screams are the ones that echo in my dreams.

“Don’t apologize. You’re okay, that’s what matters.” I hear her breath catch on my words and I lean back, taking in the way her brow furls in despair.

“I’m not okay, Peeta. That’s the problem.”

“Neither of you are safe – that’s the bigger problem.” Haymitch’s voice erupts from behind us and I’m startled by his presence.

Later today we’ll arrive in the Capitol and be bombarded with parties and gala events that they’ve been preparing for weeks. It will be atrocious and wearing and it doesn’t help to have it all kick started by our Mentor creeping around my car at odd hours of the night.

“What’re you doing here, Haymitch?” She asks, pulling the blanket up to her chin. We’re both fully clothed but still it’s awkward, here in my bed as our Mentor looks on. We’re almost vulnerable.

“I heard you screaming.” He mumbles and gets up to stretch his legs. We watch him pace, waiting for further information about why he’s been lurking.

“And?” I can’t help but prompt. I want him gone. I want to just hold Katniss for these last few days – to take every moment I can before it ends. His gaze flicks towards me, dangerous and warning.

“Be prepared for a whole new ballgame today kids. It’s going to come at you fast and hard.” He disappears before we have a moment to ask him more and I look to Katniss who’s staring at the door, her mouth slightly agape.

“What was that?” She turns to me then, her eyes wide and her face pale in the moonlight streaming through my train window.

“I don’t know.” I reply honestly, pulling her close to me and resting my head against hers. Haymitch’s words have chilled me, re-opened the uncertainty in my bones. “Let’s just sleep. We still have a few hours until the Capitol.”

We don’t really fall back asleep. Instead I focus my eyes on hers as my hand gently caresses her side, sliding from hip to rib and back again. I let her skin burn my fingers as I wait for her to stop me, but she never does. Closing her eyes, she presses her body closer to mine and lifts her lips. The kiss is slow and deep, progressing into an inferno.

I don’t know if she feels it too, but my body is alight like a live wire. I want her hands on me, I want her everywhere.

When I slip my tongue past her lips to taste her, she responds with a low mewl that stirs me. Crushing closer she slips her leg over my hip and presses her heat against me in a steady pattern. My hands find her face and I pull back, looking into her foggy eyes as she blinks up at me in surprise.

“Is this what you want?” My voice, I know, is raspy with want. I’m hard and ready but I need to know that she’s here with me, that she wants this too.

Her fingers find my jaw, her hands cupping my face gently in her palms as her grey eyes focus on mine.

“Yes. This is what I want,” And it’s clear as day, no doubt in her words or her actions. I don’t hesitate then when her hands find my hips, slipping under the thin waistband and pushing it down. Her hands cup my ass and I can’t help the way my hips jerk towards her. I hear her laugh lowly at my reaction and I hide my embarrassment with a kiss, stealing her laughter and smiles with my lips.

Returning the effort I run my hands across her abdomen and push her pants low. She finishes the rest, tearing them from her legs in a hurry as her hands find my length and stroke me. I can’t suppress the groan in my throat or the way my body jerks towards hers.

I try to slow it down, try to show her that this means something, but it’s hard as she pulls me on top of her and rolls her hips into mine. My lips find hers again as my length rubs against her core, insistent and hard and ready. Before I realize, her hands have found me and I’ve run aground within her.

I can’t think past the way her breath stops and her brow knits tightly in pain as my body holds tight against hers. My lips caress her jaw as I wait for her to adjust. I try not to think about how this is too fast. That this is a fatal move. Check mate.

“Peeta,” Her voice is soft below me as her hands frame my face. I look at her then, the pain in her face having dissipated slightly and having been replaced by concern. “Look at me, Peeta. This is okay.”

Her lips meet me halfway and I’m lost again in her taste, in her touch. I feel her hips roll upwards and I meet her stroke for stroke. Slowly the sounds of discomfort that she pushes through turn to those of pleasure, the difference only denoted by the way she pants in between.

I won’t last much longer, her unforgivingly tight grip pulling me faster and closer to the brink.

Just before I push myself over the edge, I find her lips and capture her breaths in my mouth.

I push forward, my hips losing their rhythm and simply rushing to the end as I pull out and spill over her legs and the sheet below. I couldn’t finish inside her – I couldn’t risk the consequences that could come from that.

My body collapses next to her and I can’t help but feel stunned. Did she even finish? I don’t know. I don’t know how I should feel or how she feels. I don’t know if that was right – I want it to be, I do, but I just don’t understand. Every day we’re bounced from one extreme to the other. Where do we stand? What’s real and what isn’t?

I can’t stop the thoughts that rush through my mind. I can’t take pleasure in having just done what we’ve done. I can’t find the good though I know that it’s there. I feel my chest getting tight as my breathing comes out in quick bursts and I know that my mind is panicking.

And then she’s there, her lips calming me as her hands cup my face and her smile hovers over me.

“Thank you, Peeta.” She whispers and it’s not what I want to hear. I want to hear that she loves me, that she wants me, that this wasn’t just a ploy to lure me into playing the part of the Lover better.

I shove those thoughts down, my fingers brushing the hair back from her face. I bite my tongue on my words, sure that she won’t want to hear them. She can see the struggle in my face, barely masked by the exhaustion and the fear and the tired way that I can’t even try anymore.

“I...Thank you,” I reply, my words faltering as I choose the response she likely wants. I wanted to say ‘I love you’ but now I think it would be too much.

I watch as she frowns slightly above me, her mask slipping into place as she rests back down beside me, her naked lower half pressing against mine. I don’t move away, I know that my words have hurt her.

We don’t talk again as we let the hours slip by, the quiet daylight slowly streaming into my room at dawn. She’s the first to slip away, grabbing her pants and whispering a goodbye as she disappears out the door.

This should have been more – there should have been love. I should have held her like I wanted to – without reservations. I’ve fucked it all up.

Rolling over onto my stomach, I crush a pillow across the back of my head and try to suffocate my yell of frustration.

That’s how Portia finds me, quietly slipping into the room as I scream into the mattress.

I’m startled out of my moment by the mattress sinking down below me and I can’t stop myself when I push away the pillow and shout out:

“Katniss?”

Portia holds her tongue, offering a sad smile as she looks down at me. I pull the pillow back over my head and try to die of embarrassment.

“Peeta, it’s time to get up,” Her voice calls out through the thick foam. I’m never going to get up. “Don’t make me go to extremes!” She yells and I feel the sheet moving from my hips before I can stop her, my naked ass exposed to the cold air of the train. I scrunch the pillow tighter around my face, seriously trying to suffocate myself as she quietly lays the blanket back over my body.

Decades seem to pass before I peek out from under my refuge and look out to the empty room. I know I need to get up sometime, so I pull on my pants and strap on my leg, pushing off the mattress and making my way into the bathroom.

The closing of the door must rouse her from wherever she’s been hiding because I find Portia back in my room once I’ve showered and dressed.

“So, how was your night?” She tries to tease. I smile sadly up at her, my face hopefully masking the complete confusion I have at what’s actually happened in the last few hours. I see her nod out of the corner of my eye as I sit on the bed. She doesn’t push any further, and I love her even more for that.

 

 

The first day of celebrations goes by in a blur. This could be attributed to the different type of anxiety pill that Portia gave me this morning, or possibly to the fact that it just all seemed to happen so fast. The schmoozing, the food, the people constantly pulling at us for conversations and our attention – it was unreal.

I didn’t like it, at all.

I know that I give off the impression that I’m a people person, but when it really comes down to it I prefer the solace of quiet company or the accompaniment of silence. For this very reason I have a hard time digesting the hours full of people that I have to endure, above and beyond what’s already happened on the Tour.

After the first set of parties in the afternoon, we’re steered back towards our old floor of the Training Centre for our change over before the evening party. I’m not surprised when Katniss pulls away once we’ve reached our level, heading off with Cinna towards her room without a word.

She’s been distant beyond her mask and I can’t blame her. One of us was bound to push the other over the edge  – I guess it was me who did the pushing.

When I finally make my way to my room Haymitch is there, already waiting with Portia again at his side. I wish I knew what conversations these two had. I’ve no idea what they’d even have in common to _start_ a conversation.

“We were just talking about you,” Portia coos, stepping towards me and taking my jacket from my shoulders. I look to Haymitch with a scowl, showing my displeasure at being talked about instead of talked to.

“Only good things, I hope,” I mutter as I make my way to my bed. Sighing heavily I collapse onto it’s giving surface and sink down into its depths.

“We need to talk. I wanted to get your opinion this first, before I brought it up to you both.” Haymitch says from somewhere around the room. I can still hear Portia puttering around, pulling open drawers and closets and tossing clothes towards me.

“Portia, do you have any more of those meds?” She tosses a bottle towards me and I fight with the lid. I can’t help it – if I’m expected to go through another round of playing to the people, especially with a less-than-kind partner, then I’ll need more than drugs can provide.

I’m surprised then when Haymitch grabs them from me, tossing them into the trash at my bedside.

“You don’t need them, kid. You’ve been doing just fine so far.” He grates out, his words filled with anger. I sit up and look at him with tired eyes. Why can’t he just let me do what I need to do? “Now pay attention for a minute. It’s your ass on the line.”

I listen to him carefully as he explains our failures on the Tour and the likeliness that we haven’t succeeded in quelling the Districts’ rebellious streak.  He doesn’t go much further into detail when he sees the way my body seems to collapse in upon itself.

“There needs to be something more, Peeta.” Portia whispers and I can see her toes before me as she stands at my feet. I can’t say I’m surprised by her knowledge of the situation or her attempts at encouraging whatever Haymitch is about to suggest – she has always been rather forward in her Capitol condemnation.

“What are we talking about here?” I mutter into my hands, my face hidden in my palms as my elbows rest on my knees.

I see Haymitch crouch down to my level as his hands pull mine from my face. My weary eyes meet his reluctantly and I know in that moment that whatever he’s about to suggest will likely not be in my favour.

“We need a proposal. It might be enough to throw them off – to distract them. ”

“She’ll never agree to it.” I reply, sure that this is something she won’t go along with. The kissing, the hugging, the public game – those were all things we could control with little investment. But marriage? I can’t see it happening – not now, not ever, even if she did ever love me.

“She might though – don’t discount what she feels,” Portia insists as she joins me on the bed. I feel like I’m surrounded by people who only want to move my pawn in the game. Suddenly we’re all no better than Snow, playing with people’s lives.

Standing up quickly, I push away from them both and head into the bathroom, locking the door behind me with a flick of my wrist. Once securely behind the door, I lean on the counter top and focus on my breathing.

It isn’t right what we’re trapping her in to. For me, I can see this down the road. I can see this being an option if we only had the chance – but we don’t have that chance anymore. The Capitol stole it from us. It doesn’t feel right but then neither does everything going to shit because we didn’t give it one last go.

We need to make them believe, even if it hurts.

I swing open the door to where my Mentor and stylist are sitting on my bed, calmly talking in hushed phrases before turning their attention to me. Haymitch raises his eyebrows first, waiting for me to speak.

“I’ll do it. But only if she’s willing. I won’t make her do something she doesn’t want to do.” I insist and step towards my pile of clothes, grabbing them and rushing to slip them on.

“Good. We’ll talk to her tonight.” Haymitch speaks first and I can hear him approaching me as I focus on my tie in the mirror. When he steps into my reflection, I can’t help but cock an eyebrow at him questioningly. He knows this is a last ditch effort – that it’s a desperate move. “Besides, we can probably put off the actual wedding for a few years.” He mumbles and then disappears from view, shutting the door quietly as he exits my room.

“Let me help with that,” Portia insists, stepping up to my side and reaching for my tie. I bat her hands away and step back from the mirror.

I expect this type of behaviour from Haymitch, not from her. She’s always been the one who didn’t ask for more from me.

“I can do it on my own,” I snap and pull the second failed knot free with a jerk. I can’t help but scowl in her direction as she looks at me with wide eyes.

“You know Peeta, things could be a lot worse than a marriage with the woman you love,” She spits, huffing out a breath and then leaving the room.

I don’t bother with a tie that night.

 

 

“We need a marriage proposal.” Haymitch says, the liquor in his body making him slur slightly as he says it. He’s sat Katniss and me down in the lounge of our suite, still in our evening’s best and fresh from the clinging hands of the Capitol.

I can’t help but watch her face as he says it, my eyes drawn towards her reaction like a moth to the light. I don’t know why I feel a crush of disappointment when she frowns and looks towards the ground as she draws her hand back from mine.

Looking away as well, I clear my throat and watch out of the plated glass window at the lights of the city. An awkward silence settles in as we let her adjust to the idea of marriage. Of a marriage with me.

I try not to think about what transpired between us this morning and how terribly it had all turned out. Not only had she spent the day hiding behind her mask when we were together, but even now, in the quiet of our floor she doesn’t come out. I’ve broken whatever tentative agreement we had on the train.

I’ve ruined it.

“Do I actually have to go through with it?” She whispers and it doesn’t take anything else to wound me. I struggle to my feet (foot) and slip out of the room with a brisk pace.

“Peeta! Wait!” She shouts from behind and I hear her feet scuffle on the floor.

“Leave him alone, Katniss.” Haymitch shouts from behind and I know that she’s stopped following me. I’m almost to the safety and privacy of my room when I hear her voice floating down the hallway.

“I thought he wanted it anyways.”

I shut the door quietly and sink to the floor like a pathetic child.

 

 

Sleep doesn’t come that night. I don’t even really bother to try, instead pacing my room until the sounds in the hallways have disappeared and the hour tells of sleep.

Making my way to the rooftop, I open the door and finally breathe in the somewhat fresh air of the city. It’s nothing like the coal dust laced air of 12, but it’ll do as I sit down on the edge of the building and look down.

It’s familiar up here, the sounds of the people down below echoing up to me. It reminds me of the night before my launch into 74 and the way that I’d almost wanted to jump. Hell, I’d thrown a plant only to have it tossed back at me threateningly by the force field.

This time wasn’t much different. I still wanted out of this game and I still wanted Katniss. I guess what really changed was that I almost convinced myself I had her, before she showed me that clearly I did not. She was not one that I would ever have the privilege of loving without consequence.

And I still didn’t know how to handle that.

I sit on the roof until the heat of the morning sun begins to touch my face, pulling me out of my misery and into the birth of a new day. Despite my lack of sleep, I’m refreshed when I look out at the warm orange glow of the sky.

I know that I can play this part because soon I’ll be home and free, at least for a few months.

I’ll play to keep her and her family safe because even though it’s pathetic, Katniss is _still_ worth dying for, even if she doesn’t return my feelings. So we’ll put on the show of our lives tonight during the interviews, and we’ll _make_ them believe that we’re deeply, madly in love.

Because I am. And I can convince anyone of anything.

 Standing and lifting my arms above my head, I stretch out the stiffness in my body and make my way back down to my room, a little lighter in my step and with a little more bounce. It’s almost easier having come to terms with my situation – I can be more of who I used to be.

My mood nearly comes crashing back down around me when I open the door to my room, flinging it into the wall and stopping dead at the sight before me.

Katniss.

Sleeping in my bed.

What is she even _doing here_?


	17. Chapter 17

“And you Peeta, did you get what you wanted?” Caesar asks and I can’t help but think back to this morning when I’d walked in on Katniss in my bed.

I’d been astounded, sure. A little furious as well. I mean, the gall? To show up after basically stomping me down _again_? When it hadn’t even been my _idea_?

I remember stepping towards the bed as lightly as I could, sinking down to my knees and watching her quietly as my head rested on the mattress. It hadn’t been long before her eyes flew open and surprise laced her features.

And then confusion.

Always with the confusion.

“Hi,” I’d wanted to get straight to it, to insist on why she’d come, but I couldn’t find it in me to fight with her. Hell, I’d returned from the roof in such an okay mood that for the first time I _hadn’t_ wanted to fight with anyone.

“What are you doing here?” She asked, her voice heavy with sleep. I couldn’t help but cock an eyebrow at her, questioning her.

“Are you really asking me what I’m doing in my own room?” I reply lightheartedly and bounce back on my heels and stand shakily.

“What?” Gasping, her body rears up and she looks around the space frantically before it settles in. “Oh... Oh yeah.” She looks at me then, her face calming and her brow furrowing. “I came to apologize. But you weren’t here. I guess... I guess I fell asleep.”

I couldn’t really stop the way my chest tightened at her words. I didn’t want to talk about the proposal – I’d prefer it just be done with. Turning away, I paced across my room and back, trying to contain the tension.

When the silence wasn’t broken by any confession or apology, I stopped my movements and finally looked at her. Really looked. There were tears in her eyes, wet lines on her face. She was still in my bed and clutching at my sheets.

“Katniss,” The way I said it sounded pathetic, I’ll admit. But all I wanted to do was wrap her up in my arms and hold her.

Why couldn’t I contain myself? She wounded me, again, and yet still like a glutton for punishment all I wanted was her and her love. I’d do anything for it.

Moving to the side of the bed I sunk down so I sat on the edge, my back to her and my shoulders slouched inward.

“Peeta, I’m sorry. I just... I don’t know what I’m doing. I didn’t want to hurt you. All I want is just the _option_ , you know? They’ve taken it from me and it sucks. I’m sorry I said what I did – I should have thought it through better. Haymitch was right, you are so much better at this than I am. I should have just eaten the berries in the Arena. Saved us all the hassle of this stupid Tour and this stupid game.” Her words spill out and each one of them stabs at me like a rusty knife. I don’t turn to her when I respond, unwilling to show my face.

“You’re not the only one in this, Katniss. You might be the only one pretending, I’ll give you that, but you’re not the only one they’re forcing into a corner. Haymitch isn’t right – I’m not ‘better’ at this – I’m just being honest.” I pause to take a breath, sure that my next words are going to put us on different sides of the world. “I want this for us – I actually, really and truly do. Do I regret that it’s happening like this? Yes. But would I take back any moment I got to spend with you? Not even a chance.”

When I turn to her, finally looking her in the eyes, I feel my own eyes sting with the burn of salt.

“Katniss, I know this is a show we have to put on, but you need to know that I don’t have to pretend. I’ve loved you for so long – so, so long – that it’s almost natural to me. I know you don’t understand that and that it’s not something you want, but it’s the truth.” I pause, taking a breath and building up any courage that I have left. “I know you don’t love me, that you don’t want to marry me, and I respect that and I’ll try to get us out of it if that’s what you want. But I need you to know that you’re the one for me. You always have been. And if we do have to go through with it, I promise you that I will love you and respect you and give everything for you.”

My words seem to echo in the air around us, stilling our breaths and forcing a silence down upon us. We sit like that for what seems like forever, staring at each other. I’ve said my piece – I’ve admitted everything. I have nothing left to give.

After too long, I can’t hold it anymore. My shoulders droop and my head hangs as a sigh escapes my chest. No admission of love will break through to her. She’ll never be on the same page as me, no matter how intimate we get. The tears begin to escape before I can stop them as I realize that there’s no winning in this.

“Peeta,” She whispers, her hand touching my cheek gently. I want to nudge into it, to feel her palm on my jaw. I want to feel loved.

I turn my head away, reluctantly. I need to stop doing this to myself. I should have really listened to Cinna, so many days ago.

Her fingers reclaim my chin and lift my head up.

“Peeta, look at me, please.” And it’s such a desperate plea that I can’t deny her. No matter how much she makes me bleed, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to deny her. “I don’t know how I feel, or what I’m doing. I can’t think about it. But I’ll marry you. And not because it’s right and our last chance, but because even if I had the choice, I know... I know that I can’t live without you.” Her hand falls from where it rests on my chin and she looks away from me, towards the headboard. “I’m sorry I can’t put it into words like you do. I’m sorry I can’t give you more.”

Her words leave me shocked and struggling to process what she actually means. We both sit in silence another long moment, turning over each other’s confessions in our heads.

“I guess I should go,” She breaks from the quiet and I feel the mattress below me shift as she finds the edge. Just as she’s about to stand I reach for her hips and pull her close, using her body to lift mine to meet hers as I press my lips to her mouth.

“Don’t go – don’t ever go,” I mutter in between frantic kisses and moving hands. This is as close as she’ll get right now to saying she loves me. I’ll take it. I’ll take it and run far, far, far away until she can’t take it back.

Running my hands up her sides, I hold her tightly in my fingers and press my body flush with hers. I savour the taste of her on my lips, the way her form relaxes as her arms wrap around my shoulders and she draws me close.

The mood builds in intensity and I feel the arousal growing in my pants as I shift my leg in between hers and she stumbles, pulling us back down onto the bed. The weight of the fall has the breath escaping my lungs in a rush but she returns it to me, quick pants into my mouth as her legs wrap around my waist.

“Shirt. Off. Take it off,” She insists as her hands run up my ribs. She pulls it over my head and soon her fingers are on my belt, grasping at the smooth metal as her knuckles brush my waistline.

My hands bunch her night shirt up to her shoulders as I pull her thin cotton bra away and expose her breasts to my mouth, shifting my body down as my pants shimmy down my legs. I lick my way around her nipple as my hips connect with hers, brushing and pushing against the fabric of our undergarments.

“Peeta,” Her voice huffs above me as her fingers run in my hair and pull my face back to hers. We lock our mouths together again, exploring each other and opening wider. I feel her hand scuttle beneath my boxers and grab my member, her fingers sliding over it and forcing a groan my lips. “I want you in me, now.” She moans and my shorts are lowered to my knees in a flurry as she guides me towards her center.

I feel my tip run up against the fabric covering her and she grunts in frustration, pulling it aside and then urging me forward again. I slip into her tight embrace and she lets loose a cry from her chest that I can’t resist and I capture it with my lips, swallowing her sounds.

The restriction of her underwear rubbing against me as I move within her nearly drives me insane. I can’t focus on the feel of her, the heat. It’s robbing me of her. I can’t stop my hands as they find the edge and rip it away, allowing me to thrust into her without restraint. It’s by far the most rough I’ve ever been with her and when I look in her eyes, they’re burning like a thousand suns.

“Peeta,” I hear her voice in my ear as I tongue her neck, nipping and pushing myself home as my breathing picks up. Our bodies find a pattern and we work together, forcing each other closer to the edge. “Peeta, Peeta,” She continues and it stirs me on. My name on her lips. _My_ name.

When it gets to be almost too much, I pull back, shifting to my knees and watching her writher before me with her shirt bunched and her bra pushed aside. Her lips are bright red from my abuse and I can see her ribs rushing to gather air as I slow my thrusts. Looking down, I watch as our bodies come together and it is the most erotic thing I’ve ever laid witness to. I can’t stop my hand as it moves to her center, rubbing the nub that I know will give her pleasure.

I sink back down against her, my hand brushing in her folds as I work myself closer. My tongue returns to her chest and her breathing picks up. I’m nearly there. I can feel her around me and it takes everything not to finish right now.

“Katniss,” I whisper in her ear and I hear her shout, her body contracting around me as her moans are strangled from her lips.

I can’t take the way her body tries to milk mine and I pull out quickly, shifting away from her and jerking myself towards the sheets. I’m nearly there when I feel her fingers covering mine, squeezing harder and helping me spill my fluids as I gasp for air. I feel her hand work at me until my body slumps and my length turns flaccid.

Before I even have a chance to review our half-naked frenzy, I almost die when I look over to see her licking her fingers clean of my semen.

“Katniss,” I collapse by her side and curl into her, my hands gently pulling the nightgown over her head and unclasping the bra that we hadn’t even bothered to remove. When she finally is naked beside me, I rest my head on her chest and listen to her heart beat as it begins to slow.

We lay together for a while as her fingers run across my scalp, comforting and soothing me. I can’t hold it in anymore. I need to say what I wanted to say last time. I need her to know. Looking up at her as my chin rests on her collarbone my fingers trace across her skin and draw her attention to me.

“I love you.” I follow up my words with a kiss pressed to her chest, exactly where her heart lay under her skin.

It’s the smile that crosses her lips that nearly stops my breath.

“Thank you, Peeta.” And that I now know means so much more than thanks. For Katniss, it means everything. It means more than what she can say.

 

 

I look at Caesar, this blue haired Capitol puppet and smile at the memory. I’m sure the look in my eye and the cheeky way I almost want to break into laughter makes me seem almost giddy as my words come out in their carefully constructed way.

“Well Caesar, maybe you can help me with making sure I do?” I release Katniss’ hand from mine as I rise from the couch and brush my hands against my pants, trying to reduce the nervous sweat that has accumulated.

As I kneel down before her, I look up and meet her gaze. She has her mask on, her fake smile and an unsure look that she tosses out to the crowd as though asking them what I’m about to do. Pulling the little box from my suit jacket, I cast a wink towards Caesar and the crowd and then pull her hand to my lips, pressing a kiss against her knuckles.

Despite the way that this is forced, the way we’re being made to do this, and the horrid implications of playing to the Capitol’s demands, I still can’t help how badly I want this. I want her to feel loved. I want this to mean something to her.

“Katniss Everdeen, Victor of my heart and soul, will you marry me?” I feel her hand begin to pull out of mine as the tears pop up in her eyes and I can’t quite tell if it’s real or the game. It’s startling and unnerving and just as her fingers are about to slip from mine I grip them tighter. Just for her, my eyes are pleading with the panic in her eyes.

“Yes,” Her words are a gasp and I can breathe again. The crowd erupts around us as the Capitol goes wild. I stay where I am, placing another kiss to her palm as I slip the garish Capitol ring onto her finger. I don’t move to stand – it would be too embarrassing to struggle with my leg now – instead I move between her legs and pull her off the couch and down to my level. Our lips meet and I can feel the tears dampening her cheeks. When we break for air, I kiss away the wet lines and rest my forehead against hers.

We stay kneeling on the stage, wrapped up in the safety of each other, until Caesar interrupts us with his booming voice.

“Isn’t this _wonderful_! A Capitol wedding of the century!” I feel Katniss pulling away as she tries to elegantly return to the couch, struggling with her heels and trying to save me the embarrassment of getting up on my own. When we’re finally sat down, our legs and bodies as close as we can get, I wrap an arm around her shoulders and pull her into my chest. “Congratulations, dear boy!”

“Thank you, Caesar. I like to think I’m the lucky one here. Who would have thought I’d win _and_ get the girl?” There’s another round of laughter as we banter together, almost like friends. I can’t help but notice then, with Katniss pressed so close to me, when her body tenses. I look down to where she’s looking and follow her line of sight, all the way to where Snow stands getting fitted with a microphone.

It isn’t a heartbeat before his voice is echoing over the crowd’s cheers, congratulating us on our engagement and pulling us into embraces that we’re forced to return. The smell of iron and roses wafts into my senses and I withhold a gag as he clasps his hand in mine.

I watch as he embraces Katniss and they have a moment. My body aches to pull her away from him, to step in front of her and protect her from whatever is transpiring. When I see the slight and almost imperceptible shake of his head, my heart stops in my chest and I can barely maintain the mask on my face.

I’m sure it slips. It must. Because inside me my body is collapsing with dread.

 

 

Later in the confines of the car, I expect Katniss to breakdown. She doesn’t.

Everything I know about her says that Snow’s shake of the head should break her – should be the final straw – but instead she’s smiling wider, breathing freer and acting as though she’s never been more carefree.

I can’t figure it out.

Pulling up to Snow’s mansion I can’t help the way my blood begins to pulse and my leg begins to jig again. The feeling of drowning distracts me from whatever concerns I may have had as the cameras focus in on us approaching the wide doors surrounded by Capitol birds. And by birds, I mean towering residents who are coated in sequins and feathers.

It seems like the crowds are closing in on us and I grip tighter to Katniss’ hand until she looks up at me with a frown.

“Peeta, you’re going to break my fingers.” She mumbles under her breath and instantly I release her and clench my hands closed at my side. After rubbing out her hands her fingers return to wrap around my fist and hold tight, providing comfort that I deeply need.

Inside the decor is unimaginable. The sky is literally the limit as it paints the ceiling with all its fine detail. The food that covers every table wafts delicious smells that I can’t even compare with the best meals I’ve ever had at home. If the Capitol knows one thing, it’s how to feed a village. Except, they don’t feed the villages. They gorge themselves and leave us to starve.

I try to contain my bitterness as we’re pulled into the swell and people latch onto us at every turn. Katniss tries to control her intake of food but even I know that despite being well fed for most of my life, a starving childhood is hard to break habit.

Throughout the evening I try desperately to keep Katniss at my side. It doesn’t feel safe to let her disappear and I can’t fight the feeling that if she does she won’t come back. That they’ll take her from me.

Not to mention I can’t figure out the maniacal grin on her lips or the way her actions seem to be as bold as ever. She’s not even pretending anymore, simply acting out in such a way that I can’t read her behaviour.

I try to prevent the worry that seems to build in my gut as the night continues and the party rages on around me. It’s not until we’re dancing together that I finally have a moment to breathe, assured that she’s still safe and in my arms.

“Are you happy or terrified?” I ask into her ear, loud enough to pass over the thrumming music. Her laughter twinges tightly in my ear and I pull back to see her toothy smile.

“We get to get to go home, Peeta.” She replies and I’m about to ask her more when we’re interrupted by Portia and a large man she introduces as Plutarch Heavensbee. I want to pull Katniss away, back into my arms, but then he mentions that he’s the Head Gamemaker and my skin chills. I step back and let them have their dance, making my way through the crowd of crushing bodies with Portia.

We join Cinna against the side of the room, sipping on a violet cocktail that steams ever so slightly. When he sees us approaching, he straightens up and puts on a broad smile.

“Having a good time?” Cinna asks in his soothing voice. He looks between Portia and I and nods ever so slightly, stepping between us and then away, leaving us to ourselves. It’s strange the way the man can sense the tension between us.

“Are you?” I redirect the question towards her. I should apologize for the way I acted towards her last.

“I guess. The food is delicious. Have you tried the egg hors d’oeuvres?”

“What’s an hors d’oeuvres?” I have to ask, because even though I’ve been doing this fancy party circuit for the last while I still have no idea what it is. Her lips twitch up at my question and I can’t help but smile in return.

“They’re the finger foods that the Avox are passing around.” I nod and then we stand together silently watching the crowds mill about aimlessly. I see Katniss, still dancing with the man and I breathe a sigh of relief. She’s alright.

With that concern appeased, I turn towards Portia ever so slightly and watch her until she returns my gaze.

“I’m sorry for the way I behaved yesterday. I wanted to apologize – you don’t deserve that.” For the first time tonight night I see a real smile break out across her face and I can’t help but follow suit.

“Thank you, Peeta. I want you to remember I’m only trying to help.”

“I know,” And I do. Portia, my knight in shining armour. Or classy slacks. Either or. “How do you know him?” I point to Plutarch with a slight twitch of my hand, trying to avoid standing out.

“I just met him recently. He’s an interesting sort, isn’t he?” There’s something in the falsetto of her voice that catches me off guard. I can’t help but examine Portia carefully, her eyes narrowing as though she’s trying to tell me something without words.

“Peeta, the bakers are _beyond_ themselves to talk to you about the cakes before we get on the train!” Effie interrupts our moment and pulls me away before I have another chance to speak a word. Squawking all the while, Effie leads me towards a table that is loaded with intricately detailed pastry work. She reminds me of our midnight exit and then disappears, leaving me to hold conversation with the relatively interesting bakers.

It isn’t long before I catch sight of Katniss, heading my way through the crowd and I grin up at her from the cake table. 

“Good God, is it time to leave yet?” Katniss interrupts, her fingers biting into my arm as she adjusts the shoe on her foot.

“Soon,” I mutter before we’re dragged away by another couple who are absolutely _dying_ for our attention.

As the evening begins to wind up I can’t shake the feeling that Portia knows more than she’s letting on. She’s always been subtle in her ways about the Capitol, letting Cinna take the lead on heading designs and encouraging our actions. I’ve never considered it before as something more than just a content form of submissiveness.

But there’s more to it. There has to be.

 


	18. Chapter 18

I don’t sleep that night heading home on the train. Not a wink. Not an eye shut.

I couldn’t even if I wanted to. I don’t think I’d ever want to, not really.

In all realities this could be my final night holding the girl I’ve loved for nearly all of my life. Tomorrow night she’ll be home in her own bed, with her family, with Gale possibly. And I’ll be down the road in my empty house. I’ll probably still be awake then.

Can you die from not sleeping? I think that’s possible, though I’ve never heard of it happening. That’s probably the way I’ll go, just completely end up dead as a door nail one time in my painting room. They won’t find me for weeks. Hell, maybe not months.

Now _there_ is a pitiful thought that I should save for when I’m out of sorts. Not right now, when I still have her here in my arms, warming my body with her steady heat. She’s always so warm, even as we progressively approach the north where the temperature is dropping.

After returning to the train from the final Tour party in the Capitol, Cinna had provided us with a hasty night cap and then ushered us off into our respective rooms. It hadn’t taken long before I’d headed down the train to Katniss’ room and snuck in, only to find her already dead to the world.

Crawling in beside her I engulfed myself in her scent of magnolia and soap. It was familiar and comfortable and yet still I could not sleep a wink. My mind raced with the conversations with Portia from earlier in the night and I refused to let go of the possibilities that had been raised. I’m not going to lie, I’d come here to talk to Katniss about it, but finding her already asleep I hadn’t had the heart to wake her up.

There would be another time for conspiracy theories.

If she’d ever talk to me again after this Tour.

Please don’t let it have all been a show. Please.

Pushing the thought from my head I shift my body ever so slightly to lean into the corner of the wall. Katniss had already shifted her body into my lap, somewhere in the early hours of the morning, and I hadn’t wanted to move her away no matter how numb my only leg was getting.

A subtle screech on the rails draws my attention to the ever brightening sky out the window of the car. Morning is fast approaching and soon it’ll all be over – we’ll be back in District 12 for the Harvest Festival and closing Tour banquet. It’s too soon.

The trees out the window, their dark and looming features, continue to draw closer to the tracks, enveloping the train in their shadows. It feels almost ominous, in a way, as the forest around us grows. I can’t help but be reminded of the Arena and the way the forest had almost suffocated me during my tracker jacker high.

I shift again, not very comfortable with the images racing in my head.

We’re allowed to rest for what seems like forever with no one bothering us. I know that as the sun passes high above the view of the window our teams are surely wondering if we’ll ever leave the safety of our rooms again.

I say a silent prayer that nobody comes to collect us and end this moment before I have a chance to truly paint it in my memories.

When I look down towards her head resting on my arm (after I tell myself once again that the rumble in my stomach can be ignored), I see that’s she finally woken and her eyes are curiously watching me.

“No nightmares,” I whisper because it’s true – for the first time since I can remember Katniss has slept through the night without a single nightmare. It’s a rarity, not just for her, but for either of us, to get through the night unscathed by our pasts.

“What?” Her voice is thick with sleep as I grin down at her and brush her hair from her face.

“You didn’t have any nightmares last night.” I state and breathe her in. I listen intently as she lets me into the depths of her mind, the recollection of her dream freeing my soul more than I realize. It almost makes me light, knowing that she can still manage to be safe in her dreams, even if only rarely now.

“Peeta, how come I never know when you’re having a nightmare?” Her question startles me out of the rapture of watching her. If I were honest, I’d reply that it’s because I rarely sleep, but I don’t think that answer would truly appease her.

“I don’t know,” I choose my path carefully, part truth and part white lie. “I don’t think I cry out or thrash around or anything. I just come to, paralyzed with terror.”

“You should wake me,” Her instant response has me nearly smiling – I know that I wouldn’t dare wake her unless I was ripping her from a nightmare herself. I could handle my own so long as she was alright.

But that’s not fully true – I know that the nightmares I suffer from don’t need any cure but to realize that she’s still alive and breathing. I don’t debate whether to say this – I just go for it. It’s our last day of escape from the realities of 12.

“It’s not necessary. My nightmares are usually about losing you. I’m okay once I realize you’re here.” I state it in a way that makes it okay for her to take it or leave it. I only wanted to be honest – that’s all I really wanted in the end anyways. Looking down at her I see her shift a little in her position in my embrace. I know she’s uncertain of this but I can’t think about how much worse it’ll be when she’s not here.

“Be worse when we’re home and I’m sleeping alone again,” I mumble and it slips out before I can catch the words in my mouth.

We lay together in silence for a little while longer, carefully avoiding any committal statements that could take this moment from us.

“I think I need a shower,” Katniss muffles into a spot on my chest. I laugh, pushing her gently away.

“You do,” Screwing up my nose I look down at her mussed hair and makeup streaked face. She looks beautiful, even with the scowl.

“Did you want to join me?” Her words are so quiet, so careful, that they catch me off guard. The smile on my lips dissipates and I’m a little shocked at the way my body tenses. It only lasts a moment before she’s rolling away and walking unsteadily towards her bathroom. I can see the redness of her cheeks and I nearly kick myself.

I can’t keep doing this. I need to be able to do this without her.

“I want to Katniss,” I call from where I’ve shifted to the edge and am sitting on the bed. Her body stalls, still looking away from me, as she waits by the door with a towel. “I want to, but it’s not a good idea, I don’t think.” My words fade out at the end as I watch her shoulders slump and her frame disappear behind the door without another word.

Her departure nearly rips out my heart and I want to take it all back. But I won’t.

Instead I get to my feet (foot) and make my way back to my solitary cabin and lock myself in. I take a shower by myself and try to drown the thoughts of how much better this would be if she were here. My hands stumble with the dials as they try to turn the water to a hotter temperature.

 

 

Portia is in my room with my clothing for the day already set out when I get out of the steaming shower. Her eyes scan my beet red skin and she frowns slightly. Maybe she can see it in my eyes, the way I’m trying to rip the band-aid that is Katniss off quickly.

“Rough night?” She asks, her tone dry. She doesn’t maintain eye contact as she turns back towards my closet and begins packing away my clothes into a garment bag. I make my way to the bed and sit down in my towel to adjust my leg.

“It was alright,” I reply more to the floor than her.

“Ha, that’s not what the bags under your eyes say. Put some of this on,” She tosses me a small vial and I turn it over in my hands, examining the pink mixture contained within. “It’s for your face, boyo,” She laughs again and the mood instantly gets brighter.

“What if I said I wasn’t ready to go home?” I startle us both with my question a few moments later, the cream tucked into my pocket. It smells of magnolia and I can’t help but wonder if it’s what Cinna uses to keep Katniss from looking sleep deprived. Portia pauses her packing to join me on the bed and if it were anyone else I’d probably still feel awkward sitting in my towel.

“Home will be just as shit as it was when you left, Peeta.” Her hand rests comfortingly on my forearm and I try not to hang my head too obviously. “You’ll make the best of it. You’ll figure it out. Look at how far you’ve come here?”

I try not to think of how every step forward on this Tour will be reverted tenfold once I step foot on the soil of District 12. That’s how it happened last time. I thought we’d come home happy – I was wrong. I wasn’t getting tricked again this time.

“Not even going to bullshit me then?” I offer in return, putting on a smile and looking up at her.

“I would never,” She insists as she places her hand over her chest in mock insult. I’m not sure who’s first to break into laughter but we do and it’s alright. Without warning I reach out and pull her into my embrace, holding her as though she’ll slip away.

I’ll miss Portia terribly, this woman who is like the bigger sister I never had. Caring like a mother but real like a sibling. God, I’ll miss her.

She puts her hands on my shoulders and pushes us apart, her fingers cupping my chin gently in her grip.

“We’ve still got the send off party – are you ready for it?” She asks and stands, throwing my clothes at me and heading for the door. Not before I see the hint of tears in her eyes.

 

 

“Peeta! How was the Tour my dear boy!” The mayor claps me on my back and booms in a falsely high voice. I put on a bright smile and rattle off my standard reply to this question with a quick remark. We banter back and forth for a while before Katniss interrupts, pulling me to the staircase and away from the small crowd in the mayor’s den.

It’s just before dinner and my family still hasn’t arrived – not that I’m shocked. It would be almost too much to ask.

“I thought you could use a little saving for once,” Katniss mumbles as she motions for me to sit down as she sinks onto the step below mine. Her body leans against my knees and I can’t help but feel that this isn’t as different from the Tour as I thought it would be. She’s more tense this evening than she was this afternoon – but that could be for so many reasons.

“Thanks, I thought I’d have to explain the talking points to the Head Peacekeeper when he joined us but I think he was a little tipsy,” Her laugh bubbles up below me and it cracks the quiet of the hallway.

“Cray is always drunk. It’s a waste of time to regale him with any great feat,” I join her laughter and we sit comfortably together for a while before another body squeezes its way in between the doors as though to escape without notice.

“Oh! My apologies!” Madge Undersee exclaims and both Katniss and I burst into laughter again.

“Join us, Madge. Welcome to the finer points of the Victory Tour,” I insist and I can’t help but think that it’s true – these quiet moments with Katniss were the best, maybe the only, good parts of the last few weeks.

“Oh, I don’t want to interrupt!” She scurries back towards the door and Katniss grabs for her.

“Don’t worry – there’s nothing to interrupt. We just needed to get away for a bit.” She says and forces Madge to plop down beside us. It’s tense for a moment before Madge begins to talk.

And talk she does. We let her ramble on about the time we’ve missed in the District, how the weather has been, anything that seems to be something that we wouldn’t care about if only we didn’t all want to sit in silence. At the end, when Haymitch has found us and is motioning us back to the party, I’m thankful for that half hour that we had to simply _not_ have to pretend. It almost restores our energy for the rest of the night.

I don’t quite remember how the rest of the evening goes. I know I’m passed friendly beverage after beverage, all spiked with a little bit of this and a little bit of that. Everybody here seems to remember the last banquet I attended at the Mayor’s house and have apparently took note of my behaviour in District’s 1 and 2.

In short, they all seem to think I’m turning out just like my mentor – a tragic drunk.

One thing I do remember though, from the night, is the moment that my father and oldest brother appeared out of nowhere in their Reaping Day best. My heart nearly stopped in that second as I realized that the fuzziness around their figures was not just a hallucination but the alcohol burning through my system.

I’d nearly tackled them when they walked in the door. I’m sure I shouted. I know I didn’t imagine their embarrassed smiles at my current state. But they _had_ smiled. And they’d come. And they’d walked me home after the dessert that I hadn’t missed by being kicked out before it came (unlike last time).

The end of the night came when my father delivered me to the cold bed in my Victor’s house. My brother had started a fire in the hearth and then they’d both left with a quiet goodnight. 

 

 

I was wrong. It’s almost the same as it was before the Tour.

Almost.

I spend my days mostly alone, fighting with my own mind as I battle for control of my sanity. I paint. I bake. I visit the Hob and help supply the local families with fresh bread as I spread my spending out.

On the third day back in town after the cameras have gone, after Portia has left, I make my way back to the swing set in the early evening hours. I feel different as I climb into the sling and I can’t quite put my finger on it.

Maybe it’s that even though things haven’t really changed here, I know that _I’ve_ changed. It might be shit – but it’s the shit I live in now. And that’s saying something about how far I’ve come mentally since the Arena.

I begin slowly, but it’s not long before the dark has closed in and I’m swinging higher than I’ve gone in a really, really long time. With every jerk of my body slapping back into the sling as gravity takes hold I head back down and kick my legs out.

“You’re back!” The voice that shouts up at me from below startles me from my motions as a smile breaks out on my lips. I slam my feet (foot) back to the ground and stutter to a stop as Delly stands before me with a smile as bright as the sun.

“Delly,” I say and then she’s there, wrapped up in my arms and I’m remembering how much I’ve missed her without even being aware of it.

“You’re back,” She says again into my ear and I laugh gruffly as we break apart.

“It was only a few weeks,” I mumble and settle into the swing as she joins me on my right. She’s shaking her head when I look over, her messy curls obscuring her face.

“No, _you_ are back. Not all the way, but the Peeta I knew before the Games. There’s some of him in there now.” She insists and begins to swing. It takes me a moment to absorb her words and I sit there, motionless as she creeps higher. “Swing with me, Peeta!” She shouts and I take her orders, rocking into the motion that is somehow so familiar.

I think it’s a weightless joy that I feel as the next hour passes with an innocence that I haven’t felt in years. Surely one that hasn’t been around since the day of the Reaping.

When finally my legs tire and I slow to a stop, Delly joins me back on the ground; her face bright in the moon’s light as she watches me shift back and forth.

“What changed? I thought you were worried about the Tour? I watched everything but I couldn’t tell – it was like watching you after all those times in school... After your mom, you know...” She mumbles and her gaze turns serious. I can’t help but shrug. I could tell her everything, about what changed between Katniss and me, but I don’t think I could say it out loud.

Let her believe the rumours. They’re probably more fantastic than any story I could spin.

“I don’t really know. I think perhaps I just realized that... What’s going to happen will happen. I can’t change it, not now.” I keep my words measured, still sure of the anxiety that’s caused by the Capitol listening in. I haven’t forgotten the ways they have. I can never forget.

“How did Katniss handle it?” Her question is almost lost in the breeze of the night. My eyes meet Delly’s in the dark and I feel a burst of appreciation for her caring nature and the way that she remembers it’s not just me.

“Honestly, I don’t know.” I wonder out loud. After the stairwell the night of the banquet I haven’t really seen hide nor hair of the girl who used to warm my bed. I try not to take it personally. I know the Tour spun us around and so I have to step back. But I wish we could hurry up – I wish I knew where she landed in comparison to me.

The length of the silence between us stretches on as Delly stays true to herself and resists the questions I know she has. She can read me so well. She knows I can’t give more than what I have.

“I guess I should get home,” To not sleep, I add in my mind as I mumble when the air chills considerably. Delly nearly bounces out of her swing as she pulls me off mine and into another bone-breaking hug.

“I’m so glad you came back,” She whispers in my ear as she holds me close. In that moment I don’t bother to doubt if I’m really back or not – I take her at her word and smile into her hair.

“So am I.”

 

 

“Get down! Get out of here!” I push my hands against her shoulders and plead with her to run. My head fills with images of _her_ on the gallows, _her_ body strung up like a ragdoll. My eyes are burning with the sight of a bloodied Gale as we both hear another whip crack.

It’s every nightmare coming to life behind my eyes.

The day had started off easy enough. Dad had stopped by in the early morning to invite me to dinner with my brother. I’d spent the better hours of the day painting in my room as the bright sun and crisp air had floated through the window.

I don’t remember now what I painted. All I can see is torn flesh and exposed muscle.

“What?” She shouts back at me and tries to step up onto the box again. I force her back onto the ground, below eye sight over the growing crowd. In my mind I’m begging her to leave, to not see this. I promise I’ll save him, if only she won’t see him like this.

It’ll kill her.

“Go home, Katniss! I’ll be there in a minute, I swear!” I try pushing her back towards where we’ve come from but it’s not enough, she’s pushing her way through the crowd ahead of me as my heart strangles my throat. I tear after her disappearing form, forcing people out of my way as I desperately follow her into the pit.

The sound of the whip cracking against flesh rings out again and each beat of my pulse acts like my arteries pumping my blood into the air. The anxiety tangles in my gut and my head gets light. This is bad.

When I finally breach the clearing at the center of the crowd it’s too late to leap forward and grab her back from where she’s throwing herself in front of the whip. I see the leather come down, striking against her face and raising her cheek into a violent bruise before my eyes.

I’m too shocked to move, unsure of the mood of the crowd that stands around us. Have they not just seen their Victor lashed? Are we really so compliant?

I watch as the whip rises again and my blood boils below my skin. I step forward to stand in front of _her_ this time, desperate to save her from a similar fate, but it doesn’t matter.

“Hold it!” Haymitch is here, stumbling over a downed Peacekeeper who looks in rough shape. In the moments that he stalls I reclaim my tongue and step closer to Katniss as she hunches over Gale’s bloodied form.

“He’s her cousin and she’s my fiancée. So if you want to get to him, expect to go through both of us,” I answer the Peacekeeper’s question as I take her arm in mine and step in front of them both. I’d stand a thousand lashings for her and therefore for her, for him.

At this, another Peacekeeper steps forward from the crowd and the scene begins to unravel. A new Head Peacekeeper is in town – likely sent by the Capitol to keep us in check.

We’ve done this then, by failing our test. My stomach turns over with the realization.

Everything begins to happen really quickly as the crowd disperses and the Peacekeepers disappear, leaving us to clean up the mess. I’m passed a knife at some point and I make haste with cutting his bindings, my hands not moving fast enough to release him. Not nearly fast enough as I realize that I likely had a hand in this coming to fruition.

Don’t let the guilt in – never let the guilt in – I remind myself.

As we carry Gale from the square, my eyes focus on Katniss who presses a chunk of much needed snow to her face. The mask she carries has me worried because it’s not one that I’ve seen before. This is new – this is panic and fear like I’ve never seen.

It seems to take longer than usual to arrive at the Everdeen’s house. We lay Gale out and I turn my attention to Katniss whose mask has slipped and nearly disappeared all together. Without thought I gather more snow from outside into a clean cloth and seat her in the kitchen, pressing it to her cheek and resting my palm on her clenched fist as we watch her mother tend to Gale.

Just as we begin to think the worst has passed, Katniss’ shock begins to clear and she crumbles before our eyes. Her shouts for more medicine rip at my heart and I try to hold her back as she lurches forward to fight with her bare hands. It takes both Haymitch and I to remove her from the room and pin her to a bed, out of sight and screaming distance.

Hopefully, far enough away to keep Gale calm.

“She wants us to run,” I say to Haymitch above her screams. He looks at me for a moment, his body shifting with her attempted movements. He doesn’t respond.

We both know there will be no running, not anymore.


	19. Chapter 19

For a moment there, I’d thought, well perhaps maybe I’d tricked myself, into thinking that it’d be just us running. That when she asked me in that moment to take off into the forest with her (during our first _real_ conversation since getting back) she’d been wanting me and not just survival.

But so typical of me, I’d been dreaming. Making up stories again. She didn’t want me – she wanted to not feel the guilt of owing me. I’m such a fool sometimes.

It starts to dawn on me as I sit here, watching her mourn over Gale Hawthorne’s tragic assault, that she’ll probably never choose me. We might be engaged, but it’ll never come to fruition from our own desires. She’ll be forced into it and then she’ll be stuck there, against her will. I’ll become her captor and her prison guard without even lifting a finger.

I promise myself, looking at her sleeping form in the kitchen from my perch on the couch, that I won’t hold her to the vows. That she can come and go as she pleases, live the life she wants, and we’ll simply coexist for the show of it. I won’t ask anything of her.

But I’ll still love her. And I won’t stop trying to show her that I do.

Getting up from my seat I head to the kitchen and begin to prepare a meager breakfast – she hasn’t eaten in almost twelve hours and if she’s not careful, she won’t be able to stand let alone watch over Hawthorne like a hawk.

“What’re you doing?” She nearly shouts as my knife slices through a loaf of fresh bread and hits the cutting board below, startling her out of her sleep. I place down the knife and slowly turn to her, trying to hide the way that I know my expression looks desperately sad.

I can’t let her see how fucked up this makes me feel – how much I hate that right now I’m feeling jealous of _Gale_ for being whipped. I hate it. I’m a terrible person.

“Go on up to bed, Katniss. I’ll look after him now,” I change my plan of offering food as soon as I see the dark rims under her eyes. She’s barely slept and she’s using all her energy trying to keep watch. The least I can do is let her rest. Turning back to the bread I begin to fidget with my fingers, hoping she’ll go upstairs before I have to act anymore.

“Peeta,” Her calm voice has me turning back around, facing her down as she watches me from her chair. “About what I said yesterday, about running,” And here it comes – the moment I’d been expecting. The realization that both Haymitch and I had figured out last night as she’d screamed herself hoarse.

“I know,” I interrupt her thoughts; “There’s nothing to explain.” She seems to take a moment to shake the cobwebs out of her head as her face scrunches up and she shifts in her seat. I watch as her mouth moves without words, the sounds getting caught in her throat.

“Peeta,” I hold up my hand and give a sad smile.

“Just go to bed, okay?” I ask and it’s all I want for her right now. She needs to rest; she needs to take a break from caring for everyone for just one goddamn moment.

When she finally crawls her way up the stairs I’m left in the quiet of the kitchen with only the sounds of Gale’s shallow breaths to keep me company. I return to my bread – the one thing that keeps me centered – and begin to prepare breakfast for the rest of the Everdeen family.

I’m halfway through scrambling some eggs when I hear Gale’s breathing behind me pick up. His accompanying groan of agony has shivers running down my spine as I quickly remove the pan from the stove top and move to his side.

“Katniss,” The words are barely a whisper past his lips that follow a long and shuddering sigh.

“Gale,” My voice is as calm as I can make it as I grip his fingers tightly in mine. I know I’m no Katniss, but I’m a person and I’m here and hopefully that will count for something. I slip into the chair at his side, positioning myself in front of his face in the chance that he opens his eyes.

When he does, the grey gaze staring back at me is not one filled with pain (though it is prominent) but instead one of anxiousness. His hand grips mine tighter and I try to stop the frown that forms with my confusion.

“She wants to run.” His voice is a hiss that blends in with a groan. He’s in pain and suddenly I can’t help but feel worse. This isn’t a time to talk about Katniss – this is foolish.

“I need to get Mrs Everdeen,” I reply and move to stand in a rush – they’re not up yet but he’s starting to let the pain get to him. Before I can leave though, I feel his grip pull me back down, insistent that I stay and hear him out. His eyes are closed and tight when I look at him again.

“No. She needs – you need to keep her safe. Don’t run. Peeta –“ His lips are in a tight line and I can nearly feel the pain emanating from his back. The fingers around mine are nearly crushing in their strength. “We can fight back.”

It’s only a whisper, barely heard under the gasp for breath, but still he says it and my blood turns cold. Gale wants a rebellion. Surely he’s talked this over with Katniss and that’s why she wanted to run.

I realize in that moment that the building rebellion happening in the Districts, the ones we’ve tried to calm during the Tour, were the signs of something bigger.

We were wrong to try to stop it. We should have been fighting for it all along.

“We won’t run, Gale. We’re not going anywhere.” I stand at these words and realize that he’s back unconscious from the pain. Tucking his hand carefully back on the table I head upstairs to the room I suspect to be Katniss’ and knock. At least, in my house it’s the best room in the house and if the floor plans are anything alike that’s where she’ll be sleeping. 

“Peeta?” Prim pokes her head out of the small crack she’s created in the doorway and rubs her eyes with her fist. She looks sleepy and confused and a little bit concerned that I’m haunting her doorframe at this ungodly hour.

I can’t help but realize that of course Prim has this room – Katniss wouldn’t have it any other way. Not with the way she loves this girl.

 “I know it’s early but-“ I start to talk quickly, trying to rouse her without being rude. I’d meant to get Katniss, but Prim is probably more suited to this than Katniss anyways.

“Gale!” She nearly shouts and her eyes pop in her head as she remembers. She swings the door open wide and I see her little frame fly around the room grabbing at clothes and supplies. It’s not thirty seconds before she’s scooting past me and padding lightly down the hall. She doesn’t knock as she slips into another room and disappears.

I don’t stand there for long before both Mrs Everdeen and Prim are scrambling past me and heading downstairs, arms loaded with fresh linens and a tray of herbs. I let them pass and hover in the hallway for a moment, taking in a deep breath and processing my thoughts.

Down the hallway it’s not hard to notice the sounds of Katniss and a nightmare that is surely wracking her mind. My body itches to go to her, to soothe her until she wakes, but I know it won’t do her any good. She doesn’t want me there, not today. Not after she’s chosen Gale.

So instead I head back downstairs to where the two Everdeen women are preparing pots of snow and medicines without even communicating.

“Thank you for getting us, Peeta,” Mrs Everdeen prompts as she dabs at some new bleeding.

“I started breakfast, it’s on the stove.” I reply and stand there for a moment, taking in the quick movements and precision of their care. They don’t need me here. “I should go check on Haymitch,” I mumble and pick up my coat from the living room. When I re-enter the kitchen Prim is watching me carefully.

“You should stay until the blizzard dies down,” She insists and Mrs Everdeen finally looks up to meet my gaze. I’d somehow forgotten about the storm that was whipping around outside.

“I’ll be fine. I shouldn’t leave my house unattended for this storm anyways,” I persist and pull on the sleeves. Both women watch me for a moment longer, concern clearly lacing their brows. Without another word I nod in goodbye and head out into the freezing weather.

My feet carry me home first to where I pull together some loaves of bread and goods from the day before. I pack them solidly away in a ruck sack and head in the direction that I’m sure is Haymitch’s house. It takes longer than usual but I find my way up the porch and into the warmth of his home.

He’s passed out in the kitchen when I arrive, drunk as all hell.

“Haymitch!” I call as I shake his shoulder. He grumbles from where his mouth rests on his forearm. “I brought you some bread, a bottle of liquor, and some cheese – make it last until the storm’s over, alright?” I nearly yell as I place the items on his counter and head towards his living room. I take a moment to stoke the fire to its highest point that I can leave it safely before I head out the door again.

I’m halfway home when I realize that Haymitch isn’t the only one who will need a hand in this storm. It’s the least I can do, I’m convinced, when I head off towards the Seam in the direction of the Hawthorne’s house.

By the time I arrive, having stumbled to enough doors to find the right one, my bones are numb and my feet (well I guess _foot_ ) is no longer existent in my body. My poorly covered hands are red from the cold and don’t feel attached as I knock on the wood.

“Who’s there?” A small voice shouts from the other side and I pull my chin in closer to my chest – I can’t help but pray they let me in.

“Um... It’s Peeta. Peeta Mellark.” I call out in return as the snow whistles loudly behind me. Though I know it must be dawn or just past, the sky remains dark overhead as the storm presses in thicker. It’s not a moment after I speak when the door swings open and a pair of small faces look up at me.

“Who sent you?” A third voice calls and I look up from the two younger faces to see a miniature version of Gale standing in the door’s narrow opening. I don’t have a chance to answer as a forth hand pulls open the door and pulls me inside and out of the beating cold.

“Mr Mellark!” The woman’s voice nearly breaks on my name and through the haze of warmth flooding my body I can see how hard she’s trying to hold herself together. This must be Gale’s mother and siblings. Somewhere in my mind I knew he had brothers and a sister, but I’m still startled by seeing all of them here.

“Peeta, please, call me Peeta,” I insist as I rub my hands together to get the feeling back in them. I watch the oldest boy step back from me carefully as he herds his little brother and sister to the other side of the room. The woman steps forward and grips my arm tightly, her eyes pleading.

“How is he?” She asks so low that I don’t think the others hear the desperation in her words.

“He’s alright. Mrs Everdeen is working on him. He was awake just a while ago,” I reassure and slip the bag from my shoulders. I hear her audibly exhale into her hands as the oldest brother returns to us.

“What’re you doing here?” His voice is filled with accusation as he looks up at me. It only takes a second for me to remember that this is Gale’s family and surely they must hate me for everything I’ve done to Gale by being with Katniss.

“Rory, stop that at once!” His mother saves me from answering and I pull my hand out of my bag, clutching at the loaf of bread I’ve brought with me. The boy shrinks back from me again and I hold it out to him, almost like a peace offering.

“I thought maybe you all could use this, until the storm passes?” My words have the woman nearly in tears and it doesn’t make much sense but I don’t have time to reconsider as the little girl snaps the bread out of my hand. I can’t help the low chuckle that fills my chest as I see her bounce back to where she was playing a minute before.

“You don’t need to do this,” The boy, Rory, insists again. I nod at him and pull out another package of cheese.

“I know, but I wanted to. It’s only me in that house – it’ll be better enjoyed here.” He takes the cheese from me and steps back, still cautiously watching me. The woman rests her hand on my shoulder and grabs my attention again, her eyes filled with anguish.

“Stay for some tea?” She offers and the first thought that fills my head is that surely they can’t afford to give me tea in such strained times. Gale won’t be back at work for weeks, if not months. They’ll be hurting for money which means they’ll be hurting for food.

I know I’ll make sure Sae gets them something during that time. I have to.

“I shouldn’t-“ I start and then her hand tightens on my shoulder.

“We insist,” Nodding, I place my empty bag on the floor and kick my heels free of melting snow. It’s awkward as I pull off my jacket and then struggle with my boot – usually I have my bench to sit on to deal with my fake limb, but here I struggle and nearly fall.

Not wanting to embarrass myself beyond belief I sink to the floor and begin to untie my laces. The youngest boy comes running over after seeing me on the floor and I can’t help but smile as his hands fly to my laces.

“I know how to do this!” He shouts and unties and reties the strings. I laugh out again as the woman turns from her place at the stove where she’s preparing the tea and calls out.

“Vick! I’m sure he can handle that on his own. Go get Posy tidied up for tea. Rory, help your brother.” The kids clear out at her command and I make fast work of my boots and then make my way out of the doorway, careful to not be intrusive.

“I’m sorry to just stop by like this. I thought maybe while Gale couldn’t be here... That maybe I could help.” I stand in the doorway to the kitchen and put my hands in my pockets.

“Oh, come in!” She waves me over and pulls out a chair as she places a mug in front of it. “I don’t think I introduced myself. My name’s Hazelle.” Her hands shake as she pours the tea, first in my cup and then in the other four.

“He’ll be alright, Hazelle.” I offer as she slips into the chair. I can practically feel the tension rolling off of her shoulders as she worries her fingers. She nods tightly and looks to the doorway before turning her heavy gaze towards me.

“He loves her, you know.” She whispers quickly, secretively, as her eyes flick between me and the doorway. Clearly she doesn’t want the others to hear this conversation. I try not to grip the mug tighter as I turn my body towards her and look her in the eyes.

“I know. I love her too. I didn’t mean... I didn’t expect to come home.” I offer honestly and she seems to recoil at my words, almost as though realizing the truth about this situation. I instantly regret it – I didn’t come here to throw daggers.

“I’m sorry – I didn’t mean – no, I’m sorry. You’re right. I shouldn’t have-“ Her words begin to spill out as she fiddles with her cup.

“I know, it’s okay,” I insist and look down at the table.

I’m not surprised by her reaction – she had every right to side with Gale. Besides, she’s not the first to get caught up in the fact that I was somehow in the wrong. The truth was though, something that even I myself was coming to terms with, was that I wasn’t _meant_ to come home. I’d done everything in my power to make sure that _she_ came home. Somehow we’d surprised everyone when we’d both lived.

I guess everyone kind of felt like they were cheated out of something when I lived. Goddammit.

It’s silent for another moment before I get up and head back towards the doorway as the kids pile into the kitchen after me. I look longingly once more at the big family surrounding the table and wish that I was going home to something more than an empty house.

“Thanks Peeta!” Vick, I think, shouts at me as I nod and slip back into the storm.

 

 

The phone is ringing.

Somewhere in the back of my consciousness I’m hearing the phone ring. I’m in my painting room, working on a new piece instead of sleeping as the phone rings downstairs. For just a moment, I debate ignoring it before I remember that it’s probably someone from the Capitol or something stupid like that.

I head downstairs without any urgency (because really I wouldn’t _mind_ if I missed the call) and reach the phone on its nth ring.

“Hey, I just wanted to make sure you got home,” Katniss’ voice fills the other end of the receiver and I’m surprised by the relief that fills me with the sound of her. I need to stop letting it in.

“Katniss,” I reply, nearly groaning with her concern. “I live three houses away from you.”

“I know, but with the weather and all,” Her voice dips off at the end and I can’t help but picture her fidgeting on the other end.

“Well, I’m fine. Thank you for checking. How’s Gale?”

“All right. My mother and Prim are giving him snow coat now,” I nod as I picture the red wound flaring under the cool snow.

“And your face?” Our conversation drifts off into rambles and unmentionable topics. We won’t talk about running – it’s not feasible now and she has to know it. Instead we talk about Haymitch quickly before she says her goodbyes and clicks off on the other end.

I sit with the receiver in my hand for a few minutes after the call has ended, soaking in the quiet of my house. I hear the wind howl outside and rattle the window panes and I can’t shake off how _lonely_ my house feels in this moment.

Returning the receiver to the hook I go back to my painting and my silence.

 

 

The next two days pass by without concern. The snow stopped about midway through the first and then it simply became almost impossible to leave with its depths. I was able to make a quick trip to Haymitch’s and then to the Hawthorne’s where I delivered another fresh loaf each. Neither were very receptive but I tried to take it in stride, assuring myself that I wasn’t doing it for me but for the sake of being purposeful.

When Katniss finally drags Haymitch and me into the Square, I stay silent as they prattle on about the uprising she plans to hold. I don’t need to put in my two cents on this one – it’s not going to work. Not here in 12.

Entering the Square, all of us are shocked into submission as we recognize the transformation. No longer is the place filled with a pathetic merchant class – now it’s littered with torturous gallows and shackles. The Peacekeepers have been busy despite the snow. In the distance, just over the buildings, we watch as the Hob rises up in smoke. I feel Katniss tense up beside me and I realize that this is much bigger than we thought.

“I need to check on my family,” I reluctantly admit, realizing that even if my mother’s found her way back home it’ll still be good to check on my brothers and father. When she mentions the need to check on the Hawthorne’s, I accompany her without discussion.

I think I’m more surprised when we find Hazelle talking about Posy and a case of measles – I was just over here the other day and everyone seemed fine. I don’t mention it though, sure that none of us wants to bring me into this.

Outside, Katniss steps off of the porch and looks at me for a moment, her eyes flicking from the door to me and back again.

“You go on back,” She insists and steps to the right. “I want to walk by the Hob.”

Her words have my back up. It’s a terrible idea for anyone, especially her, to go walking by the place right now.

“I’ll go with you,” I insist and follow after her.

“No. I’ve dragged you into enough trouble,” She says and I have to control the urge to laugh.

“And avoiding a stroll by the Hob... That’s going to fix things for me?” I reach for her hand and grip it in mine as we head towards the flames.

Nothing could have prepared me for the sight of the huge building disappearing into rubble. I know, somewhere in my brain, that this was bound to happen sooner or later. But still I’m shocked by the heat and the destruction and everything that it signifies.

This isn’t just a warehouse burning – it’s the last refuge. The new Peacekeepers are not playing games and that means that we’re all under new rules.

“I want to check on Greasy Sae,” She mumbles as her eyes look upon the destruction. I clutch her hand tighter in mine and look at her dead on – I need her to realize that this is dangerous. This isn’t something to be flippant about.

“Not today, Katniss. I don’t think we’d be helping anyone by dropping in on them,” And I know that with my words it’s true. We’re pariahs and our presences can and will start getting people killed.

Like Arkose. Oh _god_.

I pull her away, back towards the Square and away from the heat of the blaze.

Walking up on the bakery’s front steps, I think I’m the only one to notice my mother slipping from behind the counter into the back room. The bell above the door jingles as we step through and I pray that she stays there, out of sight and out of mind, at least until we leave.

“Hey,” I call to Mat who smiles weakly at us as he looks back and forth between us and the door to the back. Apparently he doesn’t want a confrontation either. I let my hand drop from Katniss’ back as she steps forward to order some goods. She looks at me carefully as I move towards the back, determined to see my father before I go back home.

“I’ll be fine,” I toss my hands up beside my head and slip behind the swinging door and into the heat of the bakery. I see my mother pacing on the porch outside, hands on her hips and tension clearly lacing her body. I try to ignore her as I look to my father who stands at the edge of the kitchen.

“How is everything?” I ask and avoid looking at the windows as best I can.

“We’re alright here – how’s that boy doing?”

“He’s alive.” I state and my eyes can’t help but flash towards the window where my mother stands staring at us. I sigh heavily and look at my father. “I can’t believe you let her back here,” I mumble and step back into the front of the bakery before he has a chance to say anything.

“Ready?” Katniss asks, her voice smaller than I remember it ever being. Maybe she’s afraid I’m going to fly off the hinges with the way I feel right now. Maybe she just doesn’t want to face down my mother.

“Let’s get out of here,” I reply and grab her hand tightly; pulling her close and wishing I could wrap her up in my arms.

I don’t. But dammit that’s what I want. What I need.

I hate this game that we keep playing.

 


	20. Chapter 20

“What are you trying to tell me Katniss?” I’m rooted to my seat, stalled out and unimpressed. I don’t know why she’s here in my living room sitting on my couch and looking like death just warmed up.

She came over about an hour ago. It was now going on 3am and she still hadn’t opened her mouth other than to ask if she could stay for a while. It was getting a little tired, this heavy silence. I had to break it or we’d both end up imploding from the tension in the room, I was sure of it.

Her gaze lifted up to mine at my words, the first time in a long time that she looked me in the eyes. I mean _really_ looked. I can’t say it wasn’t unnerving, especially when she still didn’t talk.

Getting up from my seat by the fire, I moved onto the couch until I was sitting cross-legged facing her. She kept her feet firmly planted on the floor, determined to keep staring into the open flames that crackled in the hearth.

“Hey,” I lowered my voice and reached out to set my hand on her shoulder, a comforting gesture I’d picked up from hanging around with Delly. She always seemed to encourage contact when things were important. I didn’t know why she was here, but it at least seemed important.

Finally, at my touch, she turned and tucked her left foot up under herself and clutched her other knee to her body. She still avoided my gaze as she rested her head on her knee.

The clock above my mantle began to chime. One. Two. Three. Four.

I’d sit here forever with her.

Maybe that was the sleep deprivation talking. Or maybe it was the realization that even though my back was stiff, my leg was numb, and my eyes were burning, I still was ready to wait her out.

At last, she broke and the words came spilling out in a rush that made _me_ want to panic. She was speaking too fast, her words jumbling together as she tripped over them with her tongue. I sat staggered for a moment, watching as her hands fluttered about her face and gripped tightly to each other. She was crying. She was falling apart.

“Katniss,” Sliding closer to her, pulling her into my embrace as her breath began to heave in gasping breaths. “Slow down, tell me again,” I whispered into her hair, my own body tensing at the words I didn’t want to try to decipher.

“I haven’t... I haven’t had my period. In like two months. Peeta,” Her hands found my shoulders and she pushed me back, determined to meet me face on. “Peeta, I can’t be. I can’t.”

The way her face tightened and resolved into her mask of certainty sent chills down my spine. I didn’t want to talk. I didn’t have the words. Any words. Instead, I moved back into her arms and clutched her tightly to my chest.

I woke up from a tangled mess of limbs to the clock striking its seventh tone. Three hours of sleep. That was better than most nights. But even so, it had been laced with the fears that we hadn’t been able to face.

Lifting my cheek from her chest, I looked up towards her still sleeping face. It was tightly drawn, remnants of nightmares still playing across her features. Her hair was loose in her braid, falling about the edges of the couch in a frayed mess. It took a moment for her words from the night before to sink in.

Katniss was late. She could be pregnant. She could have _my_ child in her.

She didn’t want it.

The last fact made my heart skip and not in the good way.

I know I had no right to ask it of her. I wouldn’t. But that didn’t mean that I didn’t want it. I wanted it so badly. So incredibly badly.

The idea that I’d done everything my brothers had told me to do, taken precautions in the way I’d been taught, and it still wasn’t enough, boggled my mind. How had this _happened_? What do we do now? If she doesn’t want it, what happens next?

I didn’t bother to move from her arms as my mind began filtering through all of the options that were laid out. Keep it, together. Let me have it. Stage an accident.

Or, and this was a likely option if Katniss was anything close to coherent last night, we see the woman in town. Mother had only mentioned her in passing and always only in a negative way regarding Seam girls and their ‘trips to taking care of business,’ but I’m sure Haymitch would know.

Hell, I could just come out and ask my mother.

What’s the worst that could happen?

My body twitched inadvertently at the thought, immediately rejecting the idea and causing a wave of nausea to invade my stomach. I tried to pull in a breath of air but her scent wrapped me up and I couldn’t do it – I needed to get away. I wasn’t dealing with this well, by any means.

Getting up to stand, I began to pace as my mind moved into the future and began imagining all of possibilities that were laid out before us. It started with ribbons and flowers and smiles but then reality started to invade. My mind filled with the gallows, with Gale who was only recently home from his whipping, to the Games and the Capitol that I would surely be returning to for Mentoring. That Katniss would be returning to, likely with a swollen belly.

In that moment, I could see why she didn’t want this. She was logical, she was a survivalist. I wanted the ribbons and smiles.

I wanted _her_. I nearly sobbed at the thought.

“Peeta,” When I turned to see her, she was once again sitting on the couch, clutching her knees to her chest. She looked pale in the light of dawn, her body small among the cushions of my oversized couch. “What do we do?”

Her voice was so frail, so quiet, that I nearly regretted every moment that had ever put her here in this position. I loved her, desperately, but I could never forgive myself for doing this. It takes two to tango, but dammit, I wanted this and she didn’t and I’d only been kidding myself during the Tour.

“First, we find out what’s actually happening to you.” I murmur, taking a step towards her and crouching down to her level. She can’t stand to look at me and I don’t blame her.

“How?”

“I’ll... Figure something out. Give me the day?” I didn’t exactly have a plan for how I was supposed to look into this. I wasn’t an expert, District 12 had nothing by way of medical facilities, and I wasn’t quite sure who to ask. If it had been anyone other than Katniss, I’d have gone to her mother.

But if I’m being honest, it was never going to be anyone but Katniss. I’d been poorly planned all along.

Her eyes meet mine after a solid minute of silence, only the sounds of our breathing filling the dead air around us. She looks weary, tired, and all I want is for her to just be able to live like a normal girl. Like she should have when I didn’t come home.

“Go home and go to bed, Katniss. I’ll find you later, okay?” I reached over and placed my hand on her calf, gently squeezing as I pushed myself off my haunches.  I didn’t look back into the living room as I headed into the kitchen, leaving her to her thoughts on my couch. I was halfway through the first roll of dough when I heard the front door close and the silence permeate the house once again.

I had to throw out the dough after I spent an hour adding unexpected saltwater into the batter.

 

 

Town was even less cheery than usual (which wasn’t saying much). The torture devices in the square were still standing tall, casting shadows over the complicated brick work of the center of town. Each step I took only reminded me more of the punishments that would come down on us for our actions sooner or later.

Halfway to the bakery, I panicked and ducked into the closest shop where I was met with a solid wall of colour and the strong odour of mothballs. I’d wandered into the fabric shop and had come flush against a display full of ribbons.

Fate was a cruel, torturous bitch.

“Mr Mellark!” The shop owner called as they stepped out from behind their counter and approached with a tentative smile. I put on my mask and grinned back, forcing the thoughts from my head. “What brings you in out of the cold?”

“Oh, not much. A little shopping, exploring. Have to fill my time somehow.” I kept the pep in my voice as the woman approaches. I needed to come up with a reason for being here, and fast, or she’d have gossip all over town.

“Is there anything I can help you find? Are you looking for a particular fabric? A colour?” She was wearing a mask too, just as I was, but hers was selling and mine was hiding. I turned to the first thing I could think of, the display of ribbons to my right.

“I was thinking perhaps of a gift. Something small.” My fingers brushed along the silky fabric of a green strand, running it along my hand.

“For Ms Everdeen, I presume?” Oh, you _presume_ so well, I nearly wanted to shout but I held my tongue. I had to play along.

I wanted to throw up.

Back out in the cold air, I hastened my step towards the bakery, once again determined to find someone I could ask about my scenario. I thought about my mother, the way she’d likely beat the crap out of me and then spread it around town. I couldn’t risk it. My father was a possible option – he’d withhold judgement, but I don’t know if he could provide me with the answers I needed. He wasn’t as aware of town gossip as my mother seemed to be. Another option was Mat. I could never ask Cob – but Mat, he was an option. He had his ear to the ground and had always been on my side.

I slowed down again and bundled up tighter into my jacket as the breeze blew icily down my neck. I didn’t want to do this. Clutching the bag of ribbons tighter in my hand, I spun on my heel as the bakery came into sight and headed in the opposite direction. To anyone watching from the windows today, I surely would look to be a little lost in my pursuits.

Oh well, at least crazy Victor’s get the reputation just by existing.

When after my third circle around to the bakery I still couldn’t face them, I knew my family was out. Somewhere along the way since the Games, we’d severed our ties. There was no going back to the way it was before.

An hour after setting off from my house I once again found myself at the swing sets, drifting back and forth in the cold winter air. There was little relief here now as the cold metal bit into my skin and stuck to my exposed flesh. 

I didn’t know what to do. I give in. There was little way of getting out of this with both our reputations intact and one of us had to just... Figure it out before it was too late. I tried to run the names through again, this time without my family clouding my judgement.

Haymitch. Last resort. We couldn’t tell him, we’d never live it down and he’d destroy us for being so stupid.

Mrs Everdeen. Worst case scenario. Katniss would never agree.

Delly. I couldn’t bring her into this – it was far too dangerous. Especially if she told _anyone_.

We couldn’t tell Gale, or his mother Hazelle. We couldn’t talk to anyone. There wasn’t even the Hob to go to for something on the side.

The Hob.

 _Sae_.

 My stomach clenched tightly as I stopped mid-swing. Sae. Katniss knew her, trusted her. She was a woman who obviously knew the inner workings of the District, and likely where Seam girls... Where _girls_ (I had to correct myself) go to be taken care of in these types of situations.

Suddenly, the choice just seemed beyond obvious and I bolted from the swing, heading off back to the Victor’s Village to get Katniss.

 

 

“This is stupid.” She huffed and turned on her foot, stomping off in the direction that we’d just come from. I’d lost track of how many times she’d backed off just as we turned to go down the street on which Sae lived. We’d been outside long enough that now my feet were starting to go numb (the one I could feel, anyways).

I watched her walk away again, stoically waiting for her to come to her senses and head back my way. When she turned the corner at the other end of the street, heading down towards where I knew Gale’s house to be, my body froze.

I’d gone to her house earlier and dragged her over to mine. We’d sat in silence for a long while, not daring to meet each other’s eyes until I couldn’t stand it anymore and I’d spewed out the options that I’d come up with. She’d agreed on Sae – had come this far now – but kept chickening out.

I _had_ to stop thinking about it as though something she was doing alone. She wasn’t in this alone, not by a long shot, but she was the one who had to ultimately make the choice. Now I was terrified she’d choose Gale to tell. He was her best friend after all, maybe she’d come around to deciding to be with him instead.

“Dammit, Katniss!” I yelled after her as she disappeared behind the row of houses before me. When she didn’t come back, I took off with a staggered run and headed down the street towards her.

She was sitting on a broken down gate, one attached to a surely abandoned house that had leaks in the roof. She looked so tiny, sitting there with the snow curling about her feet and whipping her hair loose from its braid.

“This might all be nothing,” Trying to reassure her, I sit heavily down alongside and settle my arm over her shoulders. I don’t expect her to press back and into my chest, taking the comfort that I wasn’t sure she even wanted. “We just need to find out where we’re at. There’s no shame in that.”

“In the Capitol, before the Games, Cinna said they give you something for it. It’s part of the regimen. I thought it lasted... But... I don’t know. I don’t think I want this.” I nod knowingly, understanding. Taking her hand in mine, I squeeze it lightly and motion us upward.

“Let’s go find out if this is even something to worry about,” I mumble and finally, hands clasped together, we knock on Sae’s door.

Inside, the place is brighter and bigger than it looks. It’s tidy and filled with potted herbs, surprisingly well kept for the season. Sae doesn’t let us stand there long, her eyes narrowing as she looks questioningly at us.

“I think I might be knocked up.” Katniss blurts out, her voice sure and free from any of the shaking that was slowly moving through her body at the moment. I watch as Sae barely shifts on her feet, her gaze never leaving mine.

“Tom’s wife, she’s a midwife. Though your mother would be best.” Her voice is like gravel as it grates across my ears. She isn’t smiling and there’s no hint of happiness in her right now. Sae understands the brevity of the situation and she’s not going to jerk us around.

“You know I could never tell her,” Katniss responds, her shoulders climbing up closer to her chin as her hand tightens in mine.

“Still,” Sae continues, taking in a breath that rattles her bones. “Does Gale know?”

I try to hide the way I want to flinch at the suggestion. I guess it makes sense; they’ve been together for so long, maybe she assumes? Or maybe she knows more than I think.

I can’t dwell on it. Katniss doesn’t make me.

“It’s not... Thank you.” She hisses and takes off out the door and back into the cold air of winter. We both watch her go in silence before I turn back to Sae and mutter another thanks. She doesn’t say goodbye and neither do I.

 


	21. Chapter 21

I don’t find her waiting outside for me like I’d assumed. Instead she’s gone again, back into a fresh snow storm that seemed to pop out of nowhere while we were inside sucking lemons.

Instinctively I know that we have no time to waste with this. That is for sure. But I also know Katniss, or at least I think I do, and I know that she’s going to need some time to process and actually get up the courage to go and find out for herself. In an effort to get her there faster, I don’t chase down her slowly disappearing footprints in the snow.

Instead I head back to my house and prep for another long haul of being indoors. I make loaves of bread, croissants, and a solid stew that will keep for a few days. When it’s all complete I exit back into the Village and deliver some of the food to those I know will need it most, especially in the coming storm.

My first stop is Gale’s house, now more familiar to me than I’d ever thought it would be. I barely get out a knock before Vick is pulling me into the house and relieving my hands of the bag of food I’ve brought. When the door snaps shut in the cold wind, I’m startled by the noise as I try hard to ignore the anxiety I have of being here when Gale’s around.

“Peeta!” Posy screams from her place on the floor near the couch. Her giggles have a smile gracing my lips before I realize as she wraps her arms tightly around my legs. I’d never in a million years expected to be welcomed into this family – and somehow even now, I felt like I’d bought my way in instead of earning it.

All it takes is a look from Gale over the back of the couch to confirm it.

“What are you doing here?” He scowls, shifting slightly as I watch the still existing pain flash on his features. Hazelle is at his side instantly, pushing him back into the cushions and smiling sadly in my direction.

“I was just leaving,” My voice is thick as I turn on my heel and head back out into the cold. The moment has passed and yet still it lingers, reminding me that it’s not that easy to fit in anywhere once you’re a Victor.

 

 

My last stop of the day always seems to be Haymitch’s house. The old man has been feeling the pinch of the Peacekeeper crackdown harder than most of us, if not solely because Ripper, his liquor supplier, has been locked down in the stocks for the last few weeks. Alcohol production in the District has become non-existent and both mine and Katniss’ stores for exactly this reason have become mostly depleted.

I don’t bother to knock when I reach his front door, instead choosing to push through the heavy wood and knock my boots on his porch. The house is cool, the fire having died down from not being kept up, and the light is shining brightly in the kitchen where I know I’m likely to find him.

“Haymitch!” I call out and hear him stumble around.

“Stop yelling,” He croaks from his position on the floor. He’s rummaging through his cabinets, searching for the liquor we all know is not there anymore.

“Come out, I’ve got bread and booze,” I kick at his booted heel and pull out a chair to sit in. It takes him a moment, but soon he’s joined me at the table and has rooted around for his knife and a glass. He doesn’t even flinch as he pulls out the stopper and downs a mouthful, wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

“Oh thank god,” He sighs as his head rolls back against the chair. We both know he’ll need to ration this bottle (it’s one of my last), if he’s to avoid the shakes that I saw him struggle with last week.

We sit at the table in silence for a while, nibbling on bits of bread as I avoid thinking about the predicament that Katniss and I have now found ourselves in. I don’t look him in the eyes when he asks me what’s wrong, instead choosing to slice into the loaf and serve him his meager dinner without words.

Just as the sun is about to set over the trees, I get up from the table and pack my things back away in my bag. It’s time to face the music, it’s time to find her and get this over with.

“Where are you rushing off to, kid?” Haymitch asks, eyes carefully watching my every movement. I shrug nonchalantly and head for the door.

“Just going to go find Katniss, see what she’s up to,” I reply as I lean down to put my boots on. His voice is closer, nearly at my back, when I realize that he’s followed me to the front door.

“Sounds like fun, maybe they’ll have food,” He barks sarcastically and sits on the stairs to pull his own boots on. Both of us seem to struggle with the action and I nearly laugh at the situation – everyone has always believed Katniss to be closer in similarities to our Mentor, but right now, I’d bet that I’m a more closely aligned pathetic being.

The snow seems to have let up a little as the afternoon has passed. Though it still falls in thick sheets, the wind has died down and the ground seems to be more wet and solid than it was earlier. We make our way over to the warmly lit windows of the Everdeen residence in silence, both of us not really big on words. Haymitch doesn’t bother to knock when he arrives, choosing simply to just barge in through the kitchen door.

“Oh come _on_ ,” He grabs me by the arm and pulls me into the room when I hesitate outside, trying infinitely to not be rude by just _arriving_ like he had just done. When I step inside and the door slams shut behind me, I’m met by Mrs Everdeen and Prim who are sitting around the table with two Peacekeepers standing ominously in the doorway of the kitchen.

My heart nearly stops in my chest, flicking through all of the immediate terrors that come to mind and threaten me with their overwhelming control of my brain. I feel Haymitch’s hand on my arm, squeezing it tightly and bringing me back to the present as the anxiety in my gut builds until I’m about ready to wretch up the bread I just ate.

“Mr Abernathy,” The Peacekeeper calls, standing up straighter as though emphasizing his strength. The woman Peacekeeper beside him puffs out her chest and attempts to mirror her partner’s pose. “Have you seen Katniss Everdeen lately?”

I feel my breath leaving my lungs and my vision going blurry as I try to keep my mask in place. Katniss is missing. Katniss is gone. She’s made a run for it. She didn’t take Gale. She’s _gone_. Fuck, _fuck_.

I’m trying to regain my usually upbeat composure when Haymitch speaks at my side, bringing me back to the situation we need to get under control.

“She invited us over for a late dinner, now she’s the one late?” He directs his question to Mrs Everdeen who smiles tightly in response.

“Typical Katniss,” She chirps and laughs tightly. “Would you like some tea while we wait?” I can see that she just wants to make herself busy, that sitting and being stared at accusingly is making her fidget madly. I nod my head and look to Prim who’s looking more confused than ever, though she’s hiding it well.

“Well, might as well settle in. Who knows where that girl went!” Haymitch boasts and collapses into one of the rocking chairs surrounding a chess table that we’d set up while keeping Gale company during his recovery.

I don’t really know how much time passes as we wait for Katniss to return, playing feeble games and trying to keep ourselves from going crazy. With every minute, I begin to worry more and more about whether she’s safe or if she’s really _gone_ gone. With all her recent talk of running, with the change in Peacekeepers, with the possibility of pregnancy, I can see her taking off without another look back.

The thought brings a bad taste to my mouth and unsettles my stomach. 

“Hello,” Katniss’ weary voice breaks me out of the focus for my next move. I turn carefully towards the sound, watching her as she slips off her jacket and walks in in her boots. Something is wrong, I can tell it the moment I see her face and the delicate way she’s moving around the kitchen. I try to stay silent and steady as I listen to the conversation begin to build.

This is where I excel, somewhere where I can help. When it’s time to set the scene with back up support, I’m there, confirming and denying in all the right places. I feel useful in this moment, assured that I’m playing a key role in once again keeping her safe.

Wrapping her up in my arms, I hold her steady when she falters at my grip. Something is wrong and it’s not what we decided to do earlier today. She’s in pain. I can see it. I can feel it in the way she’s holding her body next to mine. My mind begins to fill with all of the things that could have gone wrong before the Peacekeepers snap me back with their words.

“From Head Peacekeeper Thread,” The woman begins. “He wanted you to know that the fence surrounding District 12 will now have electricity twenty-four hours a day.”

It makes sense now. She was over the fence, in the forest, where she was always happy. Something had gone wrong. Maybe they’d come here in hopes to discover her _dead_ instead of just delayed. Dammit Katniss. I want to yell at her for being so foolish with everything but I can’t. Instead we watch the Peacekeepers leave after a little more banter and then she’s slumping in my arms and I’m holding her up and trying not to recoil my grip when she gasps in pain again.

“What is it?” I ask tentatively, motioning her over to my chair and sitting her down. Immediately her mother and Prim begin to flutter around her, pulling off her boots and tending to her ankle and tailbone. After a while her mother doses her with some sleep syrup and I help her up to her bed.

“Don’t go yet. Not until I fall asleep,” She murmurs as her eyelids hang dangerously low. I once again have to push down the frustration I feel as I sit on the edge next to her, gripping her hand in mine. I never want to let go.

“Almost thought you’d changed your mind today. When you were late for dinner,” I state, keeping up the lie for appearances and audio bugs that surely are tucked away in this house. There’s no point hiding the way I had actually feared she took off today, especially with what’s going on.

“No, I’d have told you,” Her words do little to appease my fears. She wouldn’t have. She barely tells me anything now unless it directly affects me. I want to scoff but I don’t. Instead I shift closer, the heat from her hip and leg burning through the sheet towards my thigh. “Stay with me,” She whispers as I watch her lids finally close, shutting her off from the world.

“Always,” It’s barely a sigh on my lips, but it means everything. I’m not going anywhere, no matter how conflicted I am. I sit there for an hour, my thumb running circles along the back of her hand as I watch her sleep. When no one comes to check on us I assume they’ve all already gone to bed and I climb in next to Katniss.

I stay for the night, barely sleeping as her warm breath caresses my cheek and keeps me from my nightmares. The sun rising in the window is enough to have me finally pulling away, tucking her hand back under her cheek and pulling the covers up to her shoulders. For the first time in a long time, she looks peaceful.

 

 

The next few days go by in a blur. With her confined to a bed, I’m forced to seek out Thom’s wife myself, tracking her down through word of mouth and arriving on their doorstep with a supply of bread and fresh goat cheese from Prim.

“Mr Mellark,” Thom’s wife greets, wiping her hands on her apron and looking at me with one eyebrow cocked. I put on my best smile and try to play innocent Victor with her. I’m the one asking for the favour, after all.

“Call me Peeta. I don’t believe I’ve met you yet?” I hold out my hand as though to shake and she takes it loosely.

“I’m Abigail. Were you looking for Thom?” Her perplexed reaction makes my stomach flip with nervousness.

“No, I was hoping to speak with you, actually. Could I have a word?” I nearly invite myself in as she steps back, offering me tea and flitting around the kitchen to keep herself busy. When we’re finally sitting at her kitchen table, facing each other with our hands wrapped tightly around our cups, she’s the first to speak.

“Alright, Peeta. What ever could a Victor want with a silly housewife?” Her voice is light with the words but I’m a good enough people reader to know that she suspects more. She _knows_ there’s something more.

“We need your help. But we need privacy too. Sae told us to see you.” I never let my eyes stray from hers, gauging her reaction before I continue on. Nodding, her lips tighten into a line as though preparing for bad news. It isn’t comforting. “Katniss thinks she may be pregnant.”

“Did you use protection?” Her words catch me off guard. Protection? From what?

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean?” Her bark of laughter gets into my skin and suddenly I feel like I’m in the wrong place. We should have just talked to her mother. Dammit.

“Peeta, I’m sorry. Maybe you haven’t learned about the options. Your mother always was a prude about these things. I mean to ask, did you use condoms? Perhaps medicine to prevent these things?” I shake my head know, not really believing that there were options.

“Katniss mentioned that they gave her a shot, before the Games... But I don’t know if that’s right? And uh... I never, I mean I never finished inside?” I offer instead, remembering what Katniss had implied. I wish she was here right now.

“Hmm. The shot probably would have passed through her system now. And pulling out is not an effective method...” Abigail leans back in her chair, pensively running her fingers along the rim of her cup. “I’ll need to see her. Is that possible?”

“I think so. We haven’t told anyone except Sae though and Katniss is stuck in her bed for the rest of the week. If I came and got you, would you come?”

“Of course. I’ll bring my kit with me.” I nod and we sit and finish our tea, neither of us talking.

Later that week, I finally convince Prim to take Mrs Everdeen out for supplies and away from the house. I promise to watch over Katniss while they’re gone and that seems appeasing enough. As soon as they’re out of the Village I fetch Abigail and bring her to where Katniss is napping in her room.

“Hey,” Pushing her hair off of her face, I rouse her from her nap and smile down at her. “I’ve brought Thom’s wife. She’d like to help, is that alright?” At Katniss’ tentative nod, Abigail moves me out of the way and instructs her to lay back.

“Perhaps a little privacy, Mr Mellark?” Abigail presses and begins to push me from the room. It’s only at Katniss’ objection that she stops and looks at us both.

“Peeta, stay with me, please,” When I look at her on the bed, sleep lines from her pillow across her cheek, she is begging me with her eyes. She looks terrified.

“Always,” I reply and sidle up beside her on the bed as Abigail instructs her.

The whole thing lasts not more than a total of fifteen minutes, but every single one of them is spent with Katniss’ hand nearly crushing the bones in my own. Keeping her eyes shut tight, she refuses to acknowledge even a single thing that anyone says, instead choosing solely to focus on her effort to breathe. My presence here is awkward but I’d do it again in a heartbeat if Katniss asked.

“Okay, you two.” Abigail starts as she sits back and helps settle Katniss’ legs back down on the bed. Katniss still doesn’t open her eyes, not daring to face either of us. “Next time you’re in the Capitol, I would appreciate if you could pick up some pregnancy test kits so that I don’t have to do this with other women in the District. As for you, it doesn’t look to be pregnancy,” I hear the ‘but’ before Katniss sits up with a start and lets out a whoosh of air.

“Thank god,” Her hand squeezes in mine as her other goes to her chest. I exhale the breath I know I’ve been holding and try to squash any sense of disappointment that was in me. This was good news. It was better this way.

“But,” And here it comes. I let go of Katniss’ hand and pull her close to my chest, probably the last place she wants to be, but I need her here. I’m scared of what this woman is about to say. “The lack of menstrual cycles is distressing and by the looks of things there’s been some damage,” Her voice trails off at the end and I struggle to process what she’s saying.

“I was in the Hunger Games, of course there’s damage,” Katniss snarls, her relief gone and replaced with a bitterness that is wrongly directed. Abigail senses it too and backs off, putting away her kit and stepping away from the bed.

“If you’d like my advice, I’d see a doctor when you’re back in the Capitol to mentor. It may mean the difference between ever having children Katniss, keep that in mind.” With her last words still hanging in the air I feel Katniss pull out of my arms and slip from the bed before my shock wears off.

“Who cares what she says, I’m fine,” She states as she begins to pace around the room. “We don’t have to worry about that now. Besides, Haymitch brought me these,” Bending over the dresser, Katniss pulls out the drawer and tosses a couple square foil packets in my direction. I look up at her tiredly, trying to figure out why her mood is whipping in the other direction from not moments ago. “They’re condoms, Peeta. You put them on before we do it.”

I can’t hide the surprise that overcomes me.

“What? Why did Haymitch give you _these_?” I look closer at the small foil package and then back up to where she’s pacing back and forth again.

“He knows. Sae talked to him. He wasn’t going to say anything; he just wanted to know how it all turned out so he could figure something out.”

I’m stalled by her words, completely caught off guard. Nobody had told me that they knew any better. And here I was, sneaking around like a fool. Whatever. It doesn’t matter now. We’re in the clear. I stand from her bed and head towards her carefully, reaching out for her hand and opening it palm up. Without a word I replace the condoms in her hand and close her fist over it.

“What are you giving these to me for?” She asks, her eyes narrowing as a confused look fills her features.

“You’re the only one for me, Katniss. I won’t need them, not with the way we’ve been since we got home,” I reply, pressing a kiss to her forehead and heading out the door without another word, leaving her shocked and quiet alone in her room.


	22. Chapter 22

“What do you _mean_ you gave them back? Peeta!” Delly was on her feet now, standing before me as I gently rocked myself back and forth on my swing. I’d told her everything, from the start of the Tour until the other day. She hadn’t judged me, not even an inkling, until this very moment.

“She chose Gale. Don’t you see?” I try to make it clearer but even my voice sounds pathetic on the words. I can’t bear to look at her.

“Peeta,” She crouches down in front of me, pushing my chin up from my chest so I have no choice but to meet her calm gaze with mine. “Katniss didn’t choose Gale. Stop being an idiot. Tell me again, what she said after the dress fittings?”

I bring the argument back into my head, all crappy feelings included. She’d just finished putting on a show for the cameras and displaying all of the Capitol wedding dress options. She’d come over to my house after, her face still dolled up but her hair hanging loose and her worn hunting clothes back on. She’d looked beautiful.

“Can I come in?” Standing at the door, she wouldn’t meet my eyes. We had barely spoken since we found out she wasn’t pregnant. I’d just taken it as a sign that she was set – didn’t need this old broken chap anymore. I hadn’t pushed.

“Sure,” I motion forward with my arm and step back over to where I’m preparing my dinner on the counter. A single portion of chicken and potatoes.

“I think we should talk,” I hear her pull out a chair, huff out a breath and sit in it heavily. When the silence drags on, I almost make to snap at her with the way she’s carrying this out. If she’s going to finish it, I’d prefer her to just be done with it and get out. I’d rather be alone anyways. “Are you at least going to look at me?”

Turning around, I leave my prep behind me and cross my arms over my chest. I still don’t say a word – I’m not the one in her house asking to talk.

“Fine. Be that way. Peeta, what’s wrong between us? Ever since the Tour, you’ve been off. Did I do something?” I nearly laugh out loud.

No, I _did_ laugh out loud.

Her words have caught me off guard and I can’t help the bark of laughter that escapes my chest at her inquiry. All she can do is scowl, sitting back in her chair and forming the same defensive pose as mine. She looks like a kicked puppy and I’m almost guilty of making her feel like that. I probably would be if I didn’t already feel like the dirt under her shoe.

“It’s not funny,” She snaps and I stop laughing. Apparently she’s serious now. The grin slips from my lips.

“I know it’s not funny. It’s just... I’m the one acting strange? I got off that train still feeling for you what I felt on it. You’re the one who’s steered clear. You’re the one who’s only sought me out when you needed something.”

“Yeah but –“

“No, Katniss. No buts. You’re not getting it. I didn’t change here. You did. You got off that train, just like you did before, and _you_ chose to make it weird. _You_ chose Gale – and that’s alright with me if that’s your choice. Just don’t come crawling over here like I’ve killed your pet. I’m not a pet.” I retort, my words barely controlled. For the first time in a long time, I actually feel angry and not just at things I can’t control.

 “Peeta, I didn’t...” Her words die on her lips when I shift, unable to hear any more of her excuses. I turn back around to my dinner, slicing at the potato with a new vengeance. I hear her rustling behind me, getting up from her chair and stepping up to my back. Placing her hand on my shoulder I tense up, feeling her cheek pressed into my spine.

This isn’t fair. It’s not alright. It’s not okay for me.

“Katniss, can you just go? I’ll see you later, alright?” It’s like a fire erupts within me as she pulls back as though singed. I hear her suck in a breath, feel her fingers linger on my side. I have to close my eyes tight to control my breathing as it threatens to betray me. I can’t give in. I need to get it together.

The argument had been mostly one sided. In recollection and in retelling it to Delly, I guess I’d realized that I hadn’t even heard what she’d come over to say. My cheeks burn red as I look carefully at my best friend.

“What do you think she was going to say, Peeta?” Her voice is calming now, her fingers stroking my cheek like she would a child.

“I don’t know,” I mumble in return as my eyes fall to the ground by my foot.

“Maybe, and this is just a guess because you didn’t actually _listen_ to her, but maybe Katniss was coming to tell you she didn’t choose Gale. That she wanted to use the condoms with _you_. Maybe you got it wrong. Maybe she really wants to work it out. Did you ever think of that?” Delly – always so full of logic. Of course I’d thought of it, but it just seemed to be less paranoid-like if it came from someone else’s mouth.

As though it was a real possibility.

“Who knows, Delly,” I mutter and push back, refusing to play into it again. When I swing forward, I’m met with the clap of a hand on my shoulder, up ending me and forcing me onto the ground with a thump. Everything on my body hurts, from my toes to my ears, as I roll over groaning.

“Stop being a whiney ass, go see her.” Delly shouts as I see her disappearing back towards her house, leaving me here like an overturned turtle as I struggle to right myself. Back on my feet, I look at the moon and its height in the sky. It’s easily after midnight, the sky crisp and filled with stars, and I think that maybe she’ll stillbe awake.

Maybe she’ll talk to me again and I’ll actually listen to what she says. We could have closure. _I_ could have closure.

I head towards the Village with an eagerness that I didn’t know I had, my feet walking briskly across the uneven path. When I stumble, I don’t fall, my hands catching on the gravel and pushing myself back to my feet without an issue. The light is on in her room when I arrive on her lawn, staring up at the Victor’s house that she lives in and contemplating what exactly I’ll say.

I consider knocking, but that’s not acceptable at this hour. Her mother would have my throat. I cross out climbing before I even think it – surely I’d never make it to the second floor without falling to my death.

I don’t know how long I stand there before I settle on tossing pebbles against her window, much like I’d done as a five-year old with Delly when we snuck out as kids. I miss the first time round, and again the second. It’s on the third shot that I hit the glass, the clatter ringing out across the quiet night sky.

Waiting for a response, my eyes never leave the beacon of light. When time stretches out, I contemplate whether she’s elsewhere in the house – maybe the kitchen? The living room? Both of those are in the back. I’m just about to head in that direction when the window opens and Katniss’ head pops out.

I can feel the scowl emanating from her from here.

“Can we talk?” I ask, just below shouting level for fear of waking Prim up in the next room. I don’t have to fear much when I see Prim pop her head up beside Katniss in the window, grinning down at me with a little wave. I smile sheepishly in return, almost regretting my decision to come here in the first place.

“About what?” Katniss shouts back and I watch as Prim’s smile disappears and she pushes Katniss’ shoulder forcefully.

“Just go!” I hear her yell from inside. I try not to smile up at them, nervous and anxious and everything awkward. This was a bad idea. Very bad.

“Give me a minute,” I hear Katniss call out above me, followed by the clap of her window shutting. I stand in silence at the foot of her porch, watching the window as it darkens and Prim’s room lights up. It’s not long before that light is out too and Katniss is opening the door as quietly as she can. Clearly she doesn’t want to wake up her mother either.

“Hi,” I whisper, watching my breath hang in the cold air. Her hair is hanging damp at her shoulders, unruly and unbraided and all I want is to touch it. I stuff my hands in my pockets instead.

“What did you want to talk about?” She asks, straight to the point and unwilling to get lost in the small talk. I join her sitting on the porch, easing off of my stiff leg that’s sore from walking all night.

“Yesterday... Well, earlier today. When you came over. I’m sorry I didn’t listen. And that I asked you to leave. That wasn’t fair of me.” I’m watching my shoes when I say it, guilt washing over me as I realize just how shitty of a move it was to treat her poorly in a moment of frustration.

“Yeah well, I probably deserved it. It’s been hard – being back? There’s everything here, everything in the Districts, Gale... You,” The way her voice drops on the last one nearly has my heart stopping. I feel her shiver beside me and I remember just how cold it actually is outside tonight – and she’s just here in her pajamas and a pair of boots. Without thinking, I pull off my jacket and wrap it around her shoulders.

“It’s been hard, I understand that. But Katniss,” And here’s where I know I need to walk a fine balance. I can’t go around blaming her solely – I’m to blame as well – but surely she’s been avoiding me since we’ve been back. “You’ve been different, you really have. I don’t know where you are half the time – and that’s alright – it’s just, you can’t say I’m the one making it different. I’m still here, I always will be. But you’ve got to meet me halfway if that’s what you want.”

I look at her then, the way her hair is blocking her face from mine as she looks at the ground below our feet. I’m tempted to brush it back behind her ear but I don’t.

“I tried to. The other night... I tried. But you just brushed it off. And then with the whole whipping thing – it’s like you wouldn’t have anything to do with me. And with Abigail? God, that was like you were guilt ridden and nothing was even figured out yet and for the whole time I couldn’t stop thinking that however it turned out you would hate me. I couldn’t talk to you about any of it because I thought...” Her words trail off and I’m desperately listening for her to finish the sentence, my eyes watching her screen of hair as my palms itch.

I can’t help it – I reach up and tuck her hair behind her ear, noticing the sad look on her face and the way her eyes are shining.

“What did you think?” I whisper.

“I thought maybe the promise was off. That you’d given up trying.” She says it so forcefully, yet so quietly, that her tone nearly tears me in two.

“Promises aren’t broken with me,” I reach my arms out to her, asking her with my gesture to meet me halfway. She does, pulling me close as my cold hands slip into the warmth of the jacket and we huddle together under the thick fabric. Tucking my face into her neck, I steal the opportunity to breathe her in, remembering the way she’d felt on the train and in my arms.

“I’m sorry it’s been such a mess,” She murmurs in my ear, her words cracking in the middle. I can only pull her tighter to me.

“It’s alright. We’ve been through worse,” I press a kiss to her chin, tenderly trying to ease her tensions. Her lips find my cheek and they sear into my skin, dragging up until her eyes meet mine, burning and flickering in the dark night.

“I really wanted you to have the condoms, Peeta,” The tone of her voice has dropped, rasping on the words as they send a shiver up my spine.

“So you didn’t want to use them with Gale?” I quip jokingly, expecting the punch that she throws at my shoulder.

“Stop it!” She hisses and pulls me in for a kiss, one that blinds me and draws me deeper into her embrace. We sit together like that for a long while, wrapped up in each other and keeping warm with our bodies. “Can I stay with you tonight?” After a while she breathes it into my hair, her lips pressing small kisses to my temples.

“Yes,” I nod against her chest, lifting her up from her spot on my lap. I’m planning to carry her to my house, unwilling to separate from her, before she drops down and grins at me conspiratorially.

“Let me go... get things,” She’s gone in a flash, back behind the entranceway and disappearing. I step off the porch and watch her in the relit light of her room as she roots around in her drawers. She’s not gone five minutes before she’s flying back out the door and shoving things in my pocket, pulling me back to my own house.

It’s a frenzy this time – similar to the last two times but also so very different. Something’s changed and though I can’t quite place my finger on it, I know that it’s something important. When I slip off her shirt, she doesn’t hide. When I lose my pants and boxers in one swoop, she doesn’t back away. Instead she steps closer, her hand falling and gripping me tight, pulling me to life as we stand near my bed.

“Katniss, I want to touch you,” I groan it into her hair as her motions on me quicken and my hips thrust fiercely.

“Then touch,” She growls back into my ear and it’s what I need to push her down and crawl over her, my lips tracing from her shoulder to her thigh, tasting between her legs until she’s crying out above me. I’m no professional, but I remember what I’ve been told and I think by the sounds she’s making that I’m doing it right.

“Up, up _up_ ,” Clawing at my shoulders she’s pulling me to her as her legs wrap around my waist. I nearly cry out when I feel her heat at my tip, ready and drawing me in.

“Where are they?” I gasp, rubbing my length between her folds teasingly. When she groans instead of answering, I have to look her in the face. The way her eyes are clenched shut, the way she’s biting her lip, has me nearly falling over the edge. I try to hold back, stopping my motions and gripping her face in my hands. “Where?” I run my lips across her jaw, distracting myself from the aching feeling in my groin.

“Jacket, in your jacket,” I’m off the bed before you could say ‘go’, my feet carrying me swiftly. I barely notice the clink of my fake leg on the bed that sends me tumbling back into her embrace, slightly mortified at my hobbled-body. Looking back up at her face, I see her wide grin and smile in return. “I never really got a chance to look at you before – not really.” I feel her eyes rake over me, just as her fingers slide down my hip and over my leg.

“Dangerous territory,” I murmur in response, trying to stop the way my hips jut towards her instinctively. Her smile turns wicked as she pulls the condom from my hand and opens it, swiftly putting it on me with ease.

I don’t want to know why she knows this. I don’t want to know why she knows this.

I bite my lip, repeating the mantra in my head.

“Haymitch,” She says without fault.

“Don’t even – I don’t... No. Stop it!” I yell out, trying to shove the image of our scraggly mentor from my thoughts. I don’t have to try long as Katniss lifts herself over me, sliding down and enveloping myself within her. It takes a moment to find our rhythm, but when we do, she’s gripping the headboard and crying out and I’m nearly there when we end up with her below me and in a ridiculous tangled mess of limbs.

I’m panting into her shoulder, nibbling on her collar bone, as we ride out the wave together. I feel like I’m missing a part of myself when we disengage, each of us rolling onto our backs as we struggle to catch our breath.

“Better than the train,” She gasps beside me. When I look over, I see her boney ribs poking out from her chest and the way it raises quickly with each breath. I fold my body back up alongside hers, my leg tangling in between hers.

“Better than the train,” I agree.

For the first time since we’ve been home, I actually, really, honestly, sleep.  

 

 

Someone in town had told me there was going to be a mandatory broadcast tonight. I was curious, but not obviously seeking it out. Capitol news was never good news. When the TV flickered on, I hunkered down in my house, alone and quiet, and watched Caesar boast on and on with Cinna about Katniss’ wedding dresses and the competition that we hadn’t even realized it all was.

My heart clenched with every image. Somewhere in my mind, someone was reminding me that it was bad luck to see the bride in her wedding dress before the wedding.

I didn’t care. The only tradition I wanted with Katniss was a Toasting – one that wasn’t constructed by the Capitol to turn us into something we weren’t.

Or weren’t yet.

Or... I don’t know. I didn’t want to analyze last night. I’d woken up with her gone – already cleared out of my space with a cold empty space on the bed next to mine. I’d briefly considered it all to be a dream – that surely I was due for another dream that was _that_ good - but the used plastic sheath on my table was enough to remind me that it was real.

So achingly real.

If I were to be honest, I’d used the memory to ease my morning _tension_. Hell, I would’ve eased it again in the shower if I hadn’t promised my father I’d stop by the bakery when I was in getting supplies today.

In town, I’d stopped in at Delly’s shop. She’d been working the till, dealing with a customer as I fiddled with the leather options near the window. When she’d seen me, she’d abruptly scooted to my side.

“So?” She was nearly bouncing.

“Yeah, we’re okay, I think,” I replied and was overwhelmed in her hug.

At some point, I’d gotten over the fact that Delly’s family didn’t want me to hang out with her. I’d gotten past being concerned that the merchants now treated me like a leper. I’d even found the confidence to walk with my head held up – no longer ashamed that I’d survived.

I don’t remember when it had happened – but something surely had changed.

Back in the cool glow of my TV screen, I watched the images fly past without much thought. The TV had pretty much lost its allure for me, ever since I became one of the main features on it.

“Now, stay tuned for the next big, big announcement!” Caesar cried and the flash of light and change in scenery caught my attention. I felt the chill run down my spine when Snow appeared, reading out the history of the Quell and all of its past punishments.

I tensed up, realizing that this was the announcement of what was to come this year. Recognizing that I would be a mentor in the Quarter Quell. I wanted to puke. I wanted to turn the TV off and remain oblivious to whatever punishments I would have to inflict upon children. It all made me want to throw up. And then Snow was speaking:

“On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of Victors.”

I did throw up. And then I got up.

“Haymitch, I’m volunteering,” My words echoed out in the hollow house, bouncing off the decrepit walls and towards the yellow of the lit kitchen. I heard the pop of the liquor bottle and followed the noise into the room.

“She doesn’t deserve you, you know,” He muttered, pulling a significantly sized swig from his bottle. He coughed a little, choking on the burning liquid as it funnelled into his gut.

I didn’t want to think about Katniss. I couldn’t. She... She was going to live. We’d done it before.

“It doesn’t matter. If you’re Reaped, I’m going. Same plan as last time,” I don’t know where the stoic mannerisms came from – inside I was terrified – but my body stood tall and my words never faltered.

“Are you going to sit down, or just stand there watching me?” He asks after a while. I’m not sure how long I’ve been standing here in his kitchen, starring off into stunned space as I contemplate all of the ways I can make sure she comes home.

This isn’t fair.

“Goodnight, Haymitch,” All of the bravado is gone from me as I step from the kitchen and head back to my dark home. Halfway across the yard I look up into Katniss’ brightly lit windows and watch the figures as they pace around the kitchen. I see Gale, surely it’s him, hulking with his big frame and leaning heavily on the table.

Of course he went there first. I would have too if I didn’t have a deal to make with the one guy who could make it.

I don’t think twice about it when I shut myself back into my house and lock my doors. I don’t bother with the lights, nor the blankets, when I curl up back into my bed. I lay there for hours without moving, feeling my muscles tire and give way. I don’t notice the ruckus in my kitchen or the soft footsteps in my hallway.

I feel her warmth before I realize she’s here, lying in front of me with her eyes wide and swollen from tears and terrified. She smells of liquor and I try not to let my anger get the best of me.

“Did you see your family?” I ask, watching her carefully for any reaction.

“Not since the announcement. I saw Haymitch.” I nod because I can smell it on her.

“I can tell. Maybe you should go home, Katniss,” I don’t touch her. I don’t move. I want her to spend the time with her family – they need her right now.

“You can’t die for me, Mellark.” It’s so fierce the way she says it that I nearly believe it. Had I not made the deal myself, I would have thought it possible.

“Go home,” I mumble in response.

“No. I’m not going anywhere,” And then she’s grabbing me and pulling me to her, wrapping me up in her arms and her legs and holding me as though I’m going to fly away. Maybe I will. Maybe this will all just come crashing down and my ashes will burn up and blow away in the wind. “You can’t die,” It’s so quiet that I almost don’t hear her speak the words into my shoulder. I wrap my arms around her tighter, almost crushing her to my chest.

“I could never live without you,” My words leave us both silent.

We don’t sleep. We don’t move. We just entwine ourselves.


	23. Chapter 23

In the morning, when the sun rises, I wake up in a nightmare. Only it isn’t a nightmare. There’s blood _everywhere_. On my sheets, on my hands, _everywhere_. Katniss is gone.

I sit up, panic striking through my core as I try to remember when I fell asleep. 

Where is she?

Looking around the room, I feel the anxiety gripping my chest and pressing on it like a thousand tonnes. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. She’s gone. And there’s blood. I try to yell but there’s no noise that comes from my lips.

Gone.

I push myself from the bed and stumble across my floor, my feet tangling in the red stained sheets.

Where is she?

“Katniss!” My mouth finally moves, my lungs gasping in air as I again launch myself towards the door. “Katniss, please!” I nearly rip the door from its hinges as I pull it open, forcing myself into the hallway and following with my eyes the dots of blood that mark the wood floors. The grained wood is stained all the way to the stairs where a bloody hand print is marking the railing.

I can’t breathe. Oh, fuck.

“Katniss,” I cry, the sound ripping from my throat and tearing out of me like a wounded animal.

It’s then that I hear it, the crash of something in the bathroom down the hall. I’m there, pulling at the handle just in time for her to throw her body at me, words tumbling from her lips as she clenches me tightly to her.

“I’m here, I’m _here_ ,” She rambles, her hands soothing my back as I gasp into her shoulder. Relief. Concern. Relief. Concern.

It takes a moment, but when I’m able to pull myself together I push her back and run my hands down her face and body, checking that she’s alright. When I get to her hands, they’re raw and mangled, her right hand only partially wrapped in bloody gauze.

“What _happened_?” I switch from panic to worry almost instantly as I guide her back into the bathroom and seat her on the tub’s edge, turning immediately to the medical kit that she’s knocked onto the floor. When I turn back, she’s unintentionally running her raw hands over her knees, rubbing open the clots that had formed overnight. “Stop,” I whisper and grab her hands in mine, dropping the supplies I’d been holding to the floor as I look up at her.

She doesn’t meet my eyes, her face pale and unreadable as she stares at herself in the mirror. Her braid is nearly non-existent and her eyes are bleary. She almost looks grey.

In that second, all it takes is a moment before she’s pushing past me and launching herself towards the toilet, grasping the bowl in her hands as her body expels her stomach contents. Her hands start to bleed again, dripping down the side of the porcelain with an eerie design.

“What do you need?” I ask and rub small circles on her back as my other hand holds her hair from her face. She nearly rests on the bowl when the round of vomiting stops, breathing in a shuddered breath as she closes her eyes tight.

“Nothing. Just stay with me, please,” She requests, her body going limp for a moment and then retching up more of the vile liquor from her gut.

I never leave her side, not for a moment, as she spends the next while suffering her hangover. In that time I clean her hands, wrapping them in sterile gauze and taping them so that the bandages stay in place. How her hands got this way is a mystery and I don’t ask, simply assuming she’ll tell me when she’s able.

I don't know how long we sit there with her hands bandaged as she hovers on the edge of sickness. I don't prod, knowing that surely she regrets her drinking fest with Haymitch already.

It's the noise downstairs and the slam of a door that startles us out of our exhausted quiet.

"Katniss?"

Gale.

I look to her wide eyes as she struggles to stand, grasping at her head with the movement.

"Katniss!" His voice is more frantic now, it's pitch almost unreal as he barrels up the stair case, his boots falling heavily as they skip every other stair. When Katniss still can't stand we just sit and wait, watching for him to find us huddled in the bathroom like two lost children.

"In here," She calls out and her voice is raw from the bile. I rest my hand on her leg, carefully offering support as Gale bursts through the doorway and stops dead at the sight of us. I doubt there's anything redeeming about the blood on my shirt and in my hair.

Without another word he launches towards us and pulls Katniss flush against him, groaning into her shoulder all of the fears that he's been withholding.

"What happened to you? Why didn't you come home? We were worried sick," Gale is whispering into her hair. I don't think I've ever seen such desperation on someone's face. He's broken just as we are.

"I'm sorry, I think I broke a window," she replies, looking at me over his shoulder as he pulls her closer.

I make to move, to escape from this tragedy that's playing out before me, but I find Gale's hand on my arm, holding me in place so hard that I can't get away. I halt, looking between Gale’s hand and Katniss’ wide gaze, seemingly unsure of what exactly to do.

“Don’t you dare go anywhere, Mellark,” He grunts and I can’t help the shiver that runs down my spine. I want to bolt. But I also want to stand my ground.

Katniss came to see _me_ last night. Me. There has to be something in that.

“Would never dream of it,” I mutter and sit back against the tub observing the pair as they talk each other down. It seems after a while that Katniss is the one comforting, and Gale the one receiving, as he breathes heavily into her shoulder. I’d bank on the fact that he’s likely crying, but it seems too out of character to be real. When he finally pulls back, I know I was right. His eyes are puffy and red as well as the tell-tale mark of tears on Katniss’ shirt.

I look away, giving him whatever dignity of mind he needs while he splashes water in his face above us.

“Shouldn’t you be at work?” Katniss asks, sitting like a rag doll as she watches.

“I’m not going today. Seeing you was more important – I needed to make sure you were okay.”

He turns back towards us and leans against the counter, wrapping his arms across his chest as he stares at us on the floor. There’s a sad smile on his face when he shakes his head, muttering something under his breath that I can’t quite catch.

“What’s that?” I ask, begging for him to rag on me in my own house. I’d love to release some fury on him.

“Nothing,” He croaks, lifting his hands in defence. I look to Katniss and she’s frowning.

“Tell me.”

“He said we look pathetic,” Katniss has to whisper when Gale still doesn’t reply. Her words make me want to throttle him. It’s not our fault that this is how it is. We can’t escape this.

“Yeah well, let’s see you the morning you learn your life is limited to a few months,” I snap, pushing to my feet and brushing out the door. Katniss is after me in a shot. I hear her behind me, yelling at Gale to let go of her arm and then the quick steps of her following me down the hallway to my room. I don’t bother to close the door, knowing she’ll get in anyways.

“Peeta,” Her voice is frail as she stands in the doorway, her skin ashen and her whole form a little sickly still from the drink.

“We’re going to train, Katniss. You, me, Haymitch – we’re going to train so that whoever gets picked is ready. Two people from District 12 are coming home from this. That’s how it’s going to be,” I state, placing my hands on my hips as I pace across my room.

“We will. We’ll train,” She replies and when I look at her I see the tight way she’s gripping the doorframe. I hear the heavy boots come down the hallway towards us and I tense up, preparing for another round of bullshit.

“I’ll help,” It’s all he says as he stands behind her, watching me over her shoulder. Our eyes lock together and I know he’s on the same page as I am.

I’ll get her home to him. He can put her back together when she gets here.

It was probably always meant to be this way, probably should have been this way after the first Games, I think.

And it’s the saddest realization I’ve ever had.

 

 

We train. Hard. Day in and day out and sometimes I think that they’re humouring me just so that I shut up about preparations and readiness and getting in the right mindset.

On Sundays, we delay our bout of training until the afternoon when Katniss and Gale have returned from the woods. I try not to let it get to me, I try to let her have her time with him because I know it’s vital to the long term, but I can’t help the way it tears at me when she’s gone in the morning and I know she’s with him and not me.

At least I have the nights. Every night since the announcement we’ve found ourselves curled up in each other’s arms. Her mother doesn’t ask and I’ve no one to question my actions, no parents to monitor my behaviour.

There is a downside to the nights though. Only after we’re asleep do the nightmares come. Sometimes it’s different and new, sometimes it’s the same. So often now I find myself lurking in limbo, imagining my sheets coated in blood like the morning after the announcement, only to find Katniss dead in the bathroom instead of sick. Those are the worst dreams and each time I wake up with my heart beating out of my chest and my lungs starved of oxygen.

She wakes with those dreams, which in itself is such a rarity. The most notable thing we’ve found about my dreams is that it’s very unusual for me to even display any nightmarish qualities. Whereas Katniss is vocal and violent, I’m merely paralyzed and suffocated. These are different and there’s no salvation in them.

It’s late one night after a hard day of training when we’re sitting on the couch, working on her family’s plant book and putting together new logs of medical plants that her mother has shown us. Even this activity has become a teachable moment.

“Do you love me?” She asks.

“Yes,” I reply. I don’t need to wonder. I don’t need to pause. When I look up from my drawing, she’s staring at me with a frown. I’m not sure how long she’s been watching me but there’s a mark on her chin from the eraser on her pencil. “What?” I ask, grinning at her to break her quiet contemplation.

I don’t want another night of sadness. We have enough of those to come. Tonight I just want to be normal.

“I just needed to hear it,” She whispers in return, chewing on the end of her pencil as she looks back down at her paper. I don’t ask her if she returns the feelings – she’d never say. That’s something I’m not allowed to ask and something I won’t ever push.

If I make her admit it, it’ll only be harder for her to come back to Gale anyways.

I return my attention to my drawing and forget the thought, discarding any ill will that creeps up in my mind. I’m drawn back out of my concentration again by the feeling of her eyes on me, watching me as I work. When I look up this time, there’s a hunger in her expression, one that I can’t quite place.

She’s in my arms before I can open my mouth, her lips pressing against mine as her tongue slips inside. We’re discarding clothes and undergarments before either of us has a chance to evaluate what we’re doing here on the living room floor of my house.

“Let’s go upstairs,” I gasp, breaking away from her kiss and pulling in oxygen. She doesn’t even think it over, pressing back into me as her hands find my thighs, her nails carving against the skin.

“No, right here, right now,” I feel myself harden at the thought, her forcefulness sending a jolt right into my soul. I push her back, lifting her legs to my hips and sliding myself home.

And it is home. With her, I am everything I need.

The first time we make quick work of it all. The second, we take our time, heading up to my room and exploring in a way that we never have before. When she cries out at my touch, I relish in the thought that I’ve brought her that. When I finish inside of her, though there is a barrier between us, I know that we’ve never been closer.

That we’ll likely never be closer.

The thought burns my gut and I crush her to my side when we finish, asking her not to slip away in the night. She promises to stay and it’s all I need to fall asleep in her arms.

 

 

It’s the afternoon before the Reaping when I go into town to see my family. They haven’t really come by the house much since my return and I haven’t really pushed it.

Sometimes you just need to sever ties. Sometimes you just need to realize that things go bad.

I think that’s what’s happened with my family. The Tour didn’t solidify our relationship – it just stayed the same.

Overhead, I hear the bell chime as I step through the doors of the family bakery. Mat is behind the counter, as per usual, and when he sees me I can’t miss the way his shoulders fall at the sight of me.

“Hey,” My voice is rough in my throat and I have to clear it as the back of my eyes burn. Mat wastes no time stepping from behind the counter and wrapping me up in a fierce hug.

“Baby brother,” He whispers into my shoulder and I feel his fingers bite into the skin of my back. I return the embrace gently, holding him for longer than necessary as he fights the tears I know he’s holding in. When my father comes from the back room and witnesses our embrace, he joins without a thought, his heavy arms crushing us all together in one of his infamous bear hugs.

I feel loved, even if my family is not particularly known for its ability to love.

“You’re not coming back this time, are you?” My father asks as he finally pulls away, stepping back to take in the sight of me from a distance. Mat retreats as well, turning the sign on the bakery to ‘closed’ for the rest of my visit.

If my mother were to see this, he’d surely get a beating.

“No. I need to make sure Katniss does. That’s kind of why I’m here,” I state and move to sit on one of the small chairs that’s provided in the front. My father and brother follow suit, taking the hint that I’m here for more than just a friendly visit. I look at them carefully before I begin, sure that this is bound to cause some discomfort for them.

“I need you to take care of her when she comes back. Her family will help, but I need to know that someone else is watching out for her too. And if... If it works out differently... And neither of us – if that’s the case,” I pause, pulling in a breath and looking out the window as I try to hold it together. “If we don’t come back – can you take care of Prim? Her sister? I’m not sure what her mother will do if Katniss is... If it doesn’t work out the right way. She should be taken-“ My father holds up his hand, pausing me mid-sentence as he reaches over and squeezes my shoulder.

“Don’t think that way,” He murmurs, trying to catch my gaze. I avoid it at all costs, instead choosing to pick at a loose thread in my pant leg.

“I need to,” I reply sadly.

“We’ll watch out for them,” Mat promises quietly and leaves the table to pace the bakery.

For anyone looking in, it would be a casual affair. But for those inside, it’s closer to a funeral. Nobody speaks. We just exist.

After a while, I finally pull it together enough to head out. They promise to see me off at the station after the Reaping as well as to look after Prim while we’re gone. I hug them both goodbye, ask them to pass my thoughts onto Cob and (reluctantly) my mother, and then head out towards the shoe shop.

I don’t even pass the threshold before Delly is in my arms, causing me to stumble backwards with the impact of her hug.

“Dammit Peeta!” She shouts, crying into my chest as we stand in the center of the street. I don’t care if anyone sees or if they judge us or start rumours. I’m going to miss her.

Oh _god_ I’m going to miss her.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, my hands finding her shoulders and pulling her back gently. When she looks up at me, her face is beet red and splotchy and everything so very Delly.

“Don’t you dare be sorry. I know what you’re up to. It won’t work. You’ll come back and somehow it’ll work out. It will. And I’ll see you again. I will!” She practically yells the last part, almost convincing even _me_ that I have a chance in that Arena. I smile sadly at her, putting on my best face and guiding us towards the swing set.

It’s our favourite place. It’s where we get to be ourselves. I’ll miss these moments.

“Promise me you’ll be happy, Delly,” I say after a while, kicking the sand below my feet as we swing together side by side.

It’s the one promise I need her to keep – the commitment to herself. So many times since I’ve known her have I seen under that facade she carries around with her. When the bubbly, smiling girl is lost, she needs to remember to be happy. I need this from her like I need her to keep breathing.

“I will,” She replies quietly, her eyes finding mine as the darkness of evening seems to creep over us. She starts into a story about her and Acer, how they’ve been talking with her parents about marriage. Even in the midst of all this chaos, Delly’s life goes on.

I can’t help but see it as a reminder that things will move on and that people will be okay when I’m gone. I let the idea settle in my head and it spreads like a warmth through my bones.

It’ll be alright.

In the end, we say goodbye with another desperate hug and I head home.  I stop by Katniss’ intending to pick her up for the night but stick around for longer when Prim draws me inside and into an intricate game that her whole family and the Hawthornes are playing. It’s more of a family moment than my own was and I’m again reassured that Katniss will survive this.

 

 

The day of the Reaping, we don’t sleep. There’s no point.

Katniss is called. My stomach flip flops.

Haymitch is called. I volunteer with a shout. The crowd erupts in a call of mourning for us both.

Instead of the traditional time before the train in the Justice Building, we’re whisked directly onto the train and forced to board without saying goodbye. I’m glad I took the time to see everyone yesterday – at least now I know that I’ve said my goodbyes.

 We don’t waste time on the train. We re-watch the Reapings, take note of our competition. Haymitch comments on them all, the volunteering brother, Gloss, of the District 1 woman Cashmere, Brutus, a man too excited to be left out of another chance at glory, Enobaria with her terrifying teeth, the only available Victors left in three, Finnick Odair and an old woman who volunteers for a young screaming woman. When we get to Chaff, a volunteer Victor from District 11, Haymitch heaves a heavy sigh, commenting that his friend was always too stupid to stay out of a fight.

And then we get to us. I can’t bear to watch it. Instead I close my eyes, my hand finding Katniss’ on the couch.

When it’s over, we retreat quietly retreat to bed.

We sleep. But not without dreams.

 

 

It’s our first night in the Capitol and it’s not hard to remember why I hate this place so much. Too many times does Haymitch allude to cameras and microphones bugging our suite. Too many times do people spend their days poking and prodding at me, removing my hair and tampering with my leg.

When it’s finally time to get some sleep, Katniss comes and finds me, equally discouraged at her day’s activities. We don’t reminisce on them – instead we sleep, gearing up for the upcoming training sessions and the inevitable Capitol tortures that we’ll have to face before heading back into the Arena.

I don’t know what time it is when the lights are flicked on and complete chaos ensues.

There are too many bodies. Too many black suited figures with guns and masks.

I’m pulled back by my shoulders, my hands slipping from Katniss’ grasp as she screams across the room. I see them pinning her down and for a moment I break free, leaping towards her and falling across the side of the bed. When I catch her eyes with mine, they’re desperate and crying and she’s fighting with every ounce of strength that she has.

But she’s not enough for the five men who hold her limbs.

And I’m not enough to break free of the bastards pulling me by the neck.

I feel the needle in my arm, slipping into my vein and pulsing me full of something before my vision dissipates.

“Katniss!” I scream it wildly, my arms going limp as the drug takes over. I’m paralyzed but still conscious, listening to the struggle around me as Katniss screams and soon Haymitch is yelling. I’m being dragged by my legs, my head brushing against the floor as my body can do nothing to salvage me.

There’s a gunshot.

And I’m unconscious. 


	24. Part Two - A Change in the Game

It's cold.

I turn over in my bed, reaching out for the warm body that I've come to need beside me.

She's not there.

When I open my eyes, we're not in the Victor's Village. We're not in the Training Centre or on the train.

I don't know where I am.

I lift myself to my knees (knee) and look around the room, drawing every detail about the place into my mind. There's nothing familiar here, no markers or windows or anything that will tell me where I am.

It's only then that I start to panic. When I start to remember that they've taken me somewhere. That there was a gunshot.

I take a personal inventory of my limbs, looking for holes or scars that weren't there yesterday. There's nothing. I wasn't the one shot.

I don't know if that's good or bad.

Refocusing on the memory of the night I try to make it clearer. We'd been sleeping, in the Training Centre. Masked guards had come for me. Katniss was trapped. I remember Haymitch yelling and trying to demand answers. And then the blackness.

I look around again, desperately searching for a door but there is none. I'm caged here.

"Hello?" I shout, scanning and hoping for something more than the returning silence. I try not to let it overwhelm me, staying focused on getting out alive.

Getting up, I make my way towards the corner and begin to search the floorboards for a seam. For anything that means an escape.

There's nothing.

Exasperated I crawl back into my sheets and stare at the ceiling. Its then that I see it, the circular hole directly above me. That's how they got me in here. Dropped me and left me to die.

 

 

How much time has passed? There's no clock or window to let in the sunlight. I could have been here for days, or weeks, but I prefer to think it hasn't been long. I like to ignore the fact that I feel like my stomach is eating itself out of existence.

I'm not sleeping well. Which isn't saying much, I guess, but it's still saying something.

The hours keep passing. I track it with the air ventilation system turning on and off. It’s the best I've got.

I’m staring at the lines in my hand, my mouth parched and dry from lack of fluids, when a voice echoes in the room around me.

“Welcome to the 75th Hunger Games!” The white walls of the rooms clear like a fog and suddenly I’m surrounded by other Victors, all as ghastly grey and hollowed out as I am. I have to blink as the light in the center of the cells beats down on us, bringing our attention to a podium at the focal point. “In the traditional nature of a Quarter Quell,” The voice continues and I vaguely place it as Snow’s, though no one is standing at the pedestal below the light. “There has been an additional _twist_ to this year’s Games. You have all been brought here for additional training and improvements due to your increased _eagerness_ to participate again.”

This catches my attention. I look around the room and see Brutus, Chaff, and Gloss in the corner area next to the old woman from 4. There’s the woman from 8 but she doesn’t even get up from her place on the bed and I’m not sure if she’s even alive.

We all have something in common I remember from our recap of the Reapings.

We all volunteered.

My stomach drops and I struggle to breathe as I look around me. Brutus and Gloss are grinning and 4 looks like she’s already resigned her fight. Chaff is fidgeting with his one arm and I notice in between moments of silence that he’s watching me out of the corner of his eye.

“For the next two days, each of you will submit to improvement training. There will also be mandatory physical adjustments. At the end, you will be delivered to the Arena to join the Quarter Quell. Good luck, and may the odds be ever in your favour.”

The light in the center of the room snaps out with a click and we’re thrust back into darkness. I make my way towards the center of the room and come up short when I knock into glass, my nose cracking on the invisible surface.

Feeling around, I realize that the walls still remain solid despite how clear they’d looked not a moment before. When the light in my unit flickers back to life, the walls are once again white and solid separating me from my fellow Victors. I can no longer contain the rage that bubbles up within me, spewing out through my lips and ripping from my chest like a banshee.

“Let me out of here!” I scream myself hoarse, my hands clawing at the walls that don’t give way.

It’s not a moment later that there’s another body in my room that’s gripping my arms and tossing me back onto the mattress. I flail around hopelessly for a moment before my hands are pulled down and strapped to the bed’s edge. There’s no escape but I never stop screaming.

“Peeta, cooperate,” I hear Portia’s voice around me and I freeze, looking desperately for the source. The lights go dim and in the corner I see it, her face illuminated by an overhead light. She looks almost ghostly, a tense sadness lacing her brow. I want to kill her for participating in this. For trapping me and stealing my last days with Katniss.

That was all I had left.

I hadn’t said my goodbyes yet.

“I will _fucking_ _kill you_ ,” I scream at her, my arms struggling to break free. “You’re dead to me! Do you hear me! _Dead_!” I keep yelling it over and over, anger bursting from my seams as the woman I used to trust betrays me and holds me captive.

“Listen to me,” She says calmly and I laugh, viciously. “We’re going to insert a chip. It will help you in the Arena. But it’s going to change how you think – you’ll have to adjust.” She continues to warn, pressing on despite my bitter laughter.

I can’t control it. The rage is pushing me past the edge of sanity. The Capitol has stolen everything from me. Everything.

“We’re going to start the procedure now,” She finishes and I see the light click off out of the corner of my eye. She’s gone and I’m alone in the dim light. Through the darkness I feel the hum of machines, the cool prick of a needle and the warm burn of drugs through my system. I stare up at the ceiling, falling deeper into a drug induced haze, when it starts to spin. A bar drops from above me and hovers over my eyes.

I don’t think I should be awake for this part.

I don’t want to be awake for this.

“I’m not unconscious!” I cry out, terror lacing me as bars lock over my forehead and hold me in place. The machine above me spins and I hear gears start to click. My pulse is pounding and I feel nauseous. I’m going two hundred miles a minute but not moving. “No!” I scream and it’s the last sound before I feel metal in my nostril and my body go limp.

 

 

Waking up is the most painful thing. My head hurts and my sinuses feel like they’re on fire. Each limb feels numb and when I turn my head to the side I see why – I’m still strapped in and I have been since they put me out.

Only now I’ve got cords coming out of my arms and thick tubes running fluid into me. I’m not so much thirsty anymore, but desperate to put something in my stomach to stop the cramps that come along.

“Welcome back,” Portia’s balanced voice is back and when I look over to the side her thin frame is back under the light.

“Go away,” I snare, wishing I could escape.

“We have a final development prior to your training,” She states calmly. I struggle to align the voice with the Portia I know, the once familiar woman who used to banter with me for hours. There isn’t a hint of her left.

Or there isn’t a hint of her _here_.

For just a second, I wonder if it’s even Portia who’s standing behind that glass or a replica. I don’t doubt for a moment that they’d do that – create some machine in an effort to gain trust. All thoughts are dashed though when I feel metal at my leg, lifting my pants up to where my prosthesis connects to my thigh. It’s not removed properly, I can tell, what with the pinch of my skin and the forceful way it’s ripped from my body.

I used to think I’d never get used to that leg but right now I know that I’ve come to see it as part of me. The loss of it brings unwanted tears to my eyes and a shaking edge to my core.

“Give it back!” I shout, trying to lift my hip up in the air to drag it back from the mechanical hand that holds it.

As though there’s someone watching each of my reactions, the hand closes and the leg shatters into pieces. I hear Portia laugh in the corner.

It’s not Portia. I know it now.

“Settle, Peeta,” The voice reminds and I feel my body relax with another bout of drugs.

From the ceiling, I watch as another metal appendage is lowered towards me. The crane above shifts and aligns with my leg, dropping it down right where my old one should be. Without warning, the metal comes to life and I think I’m imagining it but I’m not.

It’s crawling towards me, sharp pincers poking out of its ends and shifting it closer. I watch it get closer, desperately trying to shift my body backwards on the bed as it reaches out and grasps at the flesh of my thigh.

The drug isn’t strong enough.

A brutal yell rips from my mouth as it seals itself into my flesh, the pincers disappearing into the skin and latching on. The blood begins to seep from the puncture wounds but that seems to be the least of my worries as the muscles in my thigh and throughout my hips twitch and buck.

This time it’s not the drugs that knock me out.

It’s the pain.

 

 

“Are you ready to train?” Portia’s voice is back, pulling me from the black as my body hums like exposed nerves. My leg is numb, my wrists are raw from where I’ve been pulling at the restraints, but at least I have them back.

Wait.

I lift my hands in front of my face and grin.

They’ve released me. I can move.

I don’t think before I shift and make to stand, pushing off the bed and crying out as the pincers in my leg adjust to their new level. Though the pain isn’t as bad, it still exists, reminding me of how with each step I’ll remember that it’s no longer just a strapped clip on. Reluctantly, I take a step forward, looking down at my feet and realizing that I’m not the same as I was before.

I’ve filled out in muscle, my body looking more solid than it did before the Reaping. My arms also look almost _deadly_ , the way the muscles move and clench when I open my hand. It doesn’t make sense, especially knowing that I haven’t had anything to eat in a long while. It must be something in the drugs that’s making me stronger.

I try not to think about it as I walk carefully around the room, adjusting my step to accommodate once again for my altered depth. It’s lighter than the old one, and whenever I step, the ankle joint actually rotates and adjusts as though it can read my muscle indicators. I’m astonished and slightly taken aback.

The Capitol would never give me this gift unless they meant to do some harm.

Unless they were turning me into a weapon.

That’s when it happens.

“Peeta, jab-right-cross,” Portia calls out and my arms punch forward of their own volition. When it’s done, I look at my palms with a frightened gaze. “Jab-cross-hook-cross,” Portia calls out and I’m again forced into a combative stance, my arms swinging out with such force that it pulls at my shoulder.

When I drop my arms to my side, I look back at Portia with wide eyes and the realization that they’re going to order me to kill people in the Arena.

“No,” I plead quietly.

“Cross-hook-front kick,” Her voice is mechanical as she repeats it and my body reacts with a snap, lurching out and following up with a swift kick. My missing leg doesn’t disappoint, whipping upwards and snapping back without losing my balance. “Good,” The voice muses and I try to collapse onto the bed.

Only they don’t let me.

The commands keep coming, ordering each move with a new difficulty and in a style I’ve never seen before. When I think we’re finished, when I’m finally allowed to climb back onto the mattress, they’re strapping me down again and putting another needle back in my vein. They lower a screen overhead, turning it on and lashing me with violent images.

Trying to close my eyes, I hear Portia shout to open them. When I still don’t, I feel something at my forehead, gripping my skin with a rubber tip and pulling my eyelids back. There’s drugs coating my system now, lacing my blood with a viscous burn as I’m forced to watch people burn alive and be tortured.

I try to turn away. I try to shut my eyes. When none of it works, I try to enter the recesses of my mind, the places that store all my good memories. There aren’t many there but what I have is a treasure trove. I think of Katniss and her hair falling across my pillows. I think of Delly and her bright smile. I think of the calm light before a storm back home and the way the trees blow and then pause with the wind.

The videos play on for hours and my eyes never get a break as the machine coats them in a cool liquid. After a while, the memories have dulled and I can’t focus on anything but what’s in front of me. I’m falling deeper down into the sleep that I so desperately need when the images stop and President Snow’s face appears.

“Mr Mellark, thank you for participating,” He says, addressing me directly as though he’s watching me through a camera. Somehow I think he is and I contain the spit that I want to launch at the screen. He smiles broadly. I want to retch. “I’m sorry that you have missed out on the opportunity to please Panem with your charm but there are only a few more tests and then you will arrive in the Arena. Once inside, standard rules for the Games apply. One Victor only – none of that funny business from Seneca Crane’s days. Good luck, and…”

“May the odds be _ever_ in your favour,” I mumble, filling his mantra as he breaks into laughter and the image snaps away. The rage seems to crackle along my skin, pulsing in my blood and coating my lungs. Each breath burns a little more as I feel the restraints retract again.

“Kill it,” Portia’s voice calls automatically. I sit up on my bed, staring into the dark frame of space surrounding me.

“What?” I sputter, my eyes squinting to see better. I hear the scratch of claws on the floor and the low panting of a beast. I recoil up to the top of my bed, pressing into the wall and putting as much distance between us as possible. When the mutt launches towards me it traps me down, drool falling in spatters on my face as it snaps its teeth at me. I panic, shoving it off and rolling onto the floor to escape.

It finds me again easily, pinning me in place.

I see it then, the familiar eyes. Katniss’ eyes. They’ve played this trick on me before with the mutts in 74. But this time I can’t kill it – it’s _Katniss_. Every inch of me screams that it’s her and that if the animal dies _she dies_.

“No!” I scream and thrust it back again. The beast never relents and I feel its teeth scrape the skin of my throat.

“Toss kick-straddle-twist,” The command barrels out from above and my body reacts, forcing the animal back with my legs and rolling onto its back, snapping its neck with a sickening twist. My chest heaves, my lungs drawing in oxygen with a renowned force. With the adrenaline disappearing, the doubt and guilt creeps in.

“Katniss!” I scream and the room turns black. My fingers find the animals’ neck and I run them under the fur, realizing the bone jutting out at an awkward angle means its dead. I look around frantically, trying to see anything that would give me a sign as to what test comes next. I want this torture to be over. I want to be in the Arena.

I want out of here.

“Get me out of here!” I shout and the room around me begins to spin. At least, I think it’s spinning. Or I am. I can’t tell.

In another second, my body is rising upwards, frozen by a force field and encased in even heavier glass than before.

Without a doubt, I know I’m about to enter the Arena.

I see the pink sun break overhead first as the tube before me opens up. Looking around, I see my plate below me and the water lapping at my feet. I don’t make to stand, unsure of my balance and whether or not I’ll trigger the explosion if I fall off.

I hear the countdown begin and I look out towards the Cornucopia. There are people there, scavenging around already in a more leisurely pace than before. This is not the original bloodbath that comes with the start of the Games. I’m coming in mid-Games.

No, _we’re_ coming in mid-Games. When I look around, Gloss and Brutus are nearly twice their original size. Chaff has two arms. The woman from 4 stands straight instead of hunched with age. The woman from 8 leaps from her plate and the explosion rings out.

 _That_ draws everyone’s attention and I see the group surrounding the Cornucopia stand up with a start. I squint as the numbers decrease. They’re looking around wildly, shouting and yelling at each other. They’ve noticed us now, the missing Tributes on the plates.

I try harder to see them, to discover whether they’re friend or foe.

But even if I knew – everything has changed in the Games. I don’t know friends or foes or how anyone is playing. I don’t even know who’s alive. If Katniss is alive.

I realize then that I’m at a very _great_ disadvantage. I am not on an even playing field, not even by a long shot.

“5… 4… 3… 2… 1,” The canon booms and I look down at the water, unsure of its depths and whether or not I’ll make it to shore. I look out again at the Cornucopia and struggle to see through the bright sun reflecting off the water. I think it’s Finnick Odair. Undoubtedly I see the pair from 3. Johanna Mason from 7.

I’m just about to jump off when I see her.

“Katniss,” I whisper under my breath and I see her start, her braid whipping as she turns toward me as though she heard me.

My instinct is to go to her, to join her at the Cornucopia and save her but I pause, rethinking the fact that I’ve been tinkered with by the Capitol for who knows how long. I don’t know what I’m capable of and that makes me a danger to her.  The thought has me staggering backwards into the water and heading towards the shore.

In the time it takes me to get from plate to solid ground, I’ve developed a plan. Kill the Volunteers. Kill everyone but Katniss.

Then kill myself.


	25. Chapter 25

Reaching the edge of the trees I hear the scream rip out behind me and then my name flying past my shoulder. I don’t turn around; terrified that it’ll be someone I’ll have to kill so early in the game. Instead I face the green tree line head on and bolt into it, breaking through its vine-strung fence. 

The first thought when I hit the trees is that this is no ordinary forest. Not a chance. The trees are tall and thin, reaching up towards the pink sky until the leaves disappear into a thick canopy. Every breath is practically like drinking water, the humidity is so great. Even worse, the land climbs upward in the trees – the hill steep and brutal and nearly impossible to climb.

But I do it anyways – seeking the edge of the Arena like we’d seen Haymitch do in the last Quarter Quell. At least maybe there I could get a handle on the game and where it currently stood so that I could put my plans in motion.

My tracking of time becomes useless the further I climb. The only tracking tool that I have for it is the sun and with every passing minute it seems to be disappearing even quicker than I’ve ever seen it do in District 12. I feel like I’ve climbed for hours when the light fully flickers out and the entrapping canopy suffocates the air from around me. I can’t see the sky through the trees, nor can I see the land around me.

Moving forward is eliminated as my next plan of action. I’m stuck here until the sun comes up again.

At least, I think I am. That thought comes just before the ground below me starts to rumble and the underbrush of the trees begins to recoil. I see the shadows play off the trees and when I try to retreat, my metal leg is held to the ground with the attraction of a heavy magnet. The pain forces me to stop pulling at it immediately, realizing that it’s now permanently attached to my being.

There isn’t any time to ponder this thought as the ground ahead begins to open up. Unlike the appearance of a sinkhole, the ground shutters and then falls away like a decorated cloth. The force holding my leg to the ground lurches my body forward and my heart nearly beats out of my chest.

It’s moving towards the hole.

It’s going to swallow me whole.

“Fuck! No!” I scream and scratch at where my leg connects, begging for the damn thing to be off as the ground disappears downwards into the blackness. I begin to panic, not for my life but for Katniss and how she’ll be left to fend for herself. Falling to the ground, my hands claw at the earth and at grip tree stumps and wild things I’ve never seen before.

But the pulling doesn’t stop.

I feel my legs drop downwards, into the hole, and when I look back my lower torso has disappeared from sight. The scream of terror rips from my chest and my nails fill with dirt as I’m dragged backwards.

The hand on my arm, biting into my skin and holding me steady, is completely unexpected. When I look up, I see Chaff gripping a tree trunk with his new arm while the other wraps around my forearm.

I’m halfway in the hole now; from the ribs down hanging loosely over the edge as the ground still continues to slip away.

“Hold on kid,” He yells. It takes me a moment to realize that the ground has stopped shuddering and the hole is no longer gaining in size. Looking around frantically, I see that the ground has not collapsed, but remains almost pulled in at the centre like a bottle nose at the cap.

“Why are you doing this?” I shout, struggling to swing myself upward but getting nowhere as the magnetic pull keeps my leg suspended. It barely registers on the pain scale as the attachments hold steady in my muscle.

“I’ve got a soft spot for cripples, bastards and other broken things,” He answers warily. My returning scowl only seems to bother him more. “Do you want me to let you fall in?” He spits, looking away as though he makes no effort to hold on.

“No.”

“Then shut up and don’t ask questions.” When he looks away, I take the opportunity to look him over. I see the bead of sweat on his forehead and the flushed pallor of his skin and I know that I’m not the only one who’s been exhausting themselves since entering the Arena.

Again, time remains immeasurable as I hang over the edge. My arm starts to burn with the effort and slowly I start to see Chaff flinch with the muscle fatigue. I’m nearly ready to beg him to fulfill my plan for me when the ground below begins to rebound, pushing the surface back up towards me and leaving my body prone on my stomach. The magnetism seems to die out as well as I make to stand, lifting the appendage with a new found ease.

Brushing my hands along my pants, I turn towards Chaff to thank him but he’s already gone – disappeared into the trees and the darkness and leaving me here.

I shouldn’t stay in the woods tonight. It’s too dangerous. Too many tricks threatening to pop out at me.

Steadily, I begin to make my way downwards, each step carefully balanced on the slope of the hill. Only once do I need to reach out for the side of a tree before I fall. When I finally breach the sandy surface of the beach I measure the options before me.

I need to figure out who’s alive. I have got to find out the existing Gamesmaker traps. And I _have_ to get a handle on this Arena.

Settling down into the sand at the edge of the trees I take stock of what I know. Water is scarce, at least drinkable water that is. Food doesn’t come in any form that I truly would risk trying to understand. Also, Katniss is alive.

The last fact sends a shiver down my spine and a pang of concern through my chest.

I sit bolt upright, staring at the rippling water as I remember what had happened before I was taken away. Somebody had been shot. She’d been caught by the guards. It’d been chaos. Suddenly, I wasn’t so sure that I’d seen her at the Cornucopia.

I could have imagined it.

Clenching my hand around my knee, I force myself to relax again.

I can’t help her if I can’t focus. I need to focus. I need to sleep. I need to find her.

 

 

The crack of dawn blooms out over the milky sky of the Arena. Overnight the air hasn’t seemed to let up on its humidity; in fact, it feels like it’s gotten worse. At least yesterday my skin wasn’t sticking together and ripping apart with a nice burn each time.

I barely slept last night, the hunger pains beginning to envelope me and the strange sounds from the trees keeping me on edge. In the distance I watch as a wave of water crashes through the forest and down into the water, sending the sand near where I sleep almost to my knees. I wait until the last moment to move and escape into the forest’s edge, determined to see the extent of the damage.

When it’s over, I return to the sand and begin my hike towards the nearest spoke that will cross with the Cornucopia. I’m nearly there when I hear the sound of animals rustling in the trees and then subsequently screeching from nearby.

Whatever is in there doesn’t sound friendly.

Making my way to the center of the Arena I pick up a few of the remaining items. There’s barely anything left, but I am able to pry a knife out of the side of the structure as well as pick up a small twine of rope. I doubt it’ll help me – but at least it’s something.

“Peeta,” I hear my name being called out before I see them rounding around the edge. Finnick is the first to appear and my mind immediately switches to combat mode. Before I throw the first punch, I realize that he was not the one who’d called me. I freeze, staring into the man’s eyes with distrust.

“Wouldn’t want to throw that punch on such a pretty face, would we?” He mocks, sidestepping me as Katniss rounds the edge. She’s not alone, bordered by the pair from 3 and the woman from 4 who’s helping keep her standing. I hesitate, stepping backwards at the amount of people approaching me.

This alliance, if that’s what it is, is far too large to make the odds in our favour.

“What happened?” I ask, trying to keep my tone neutral as my eyes scan her body for injury. She frowns at me, looking me over and likely noticing the changes in my build.

“We should be asking the same to you, boyo, but we’ve already got Mags here to keep us in the loop,” Finnick laughs, motioning to the old woman who looks unnaturally strong. If there’s anyone in this group I trust the least, it’s her – she went through what I did, she knows what a danger we can be.

“Katniss, tell me,” I plead, changing focus and stepping towards her carefully. She wants to recoil, I can see it in her eyes, but she stands her ground and lifts herself free from Mags’ supporting arm.

“You don’t remember?” I shake my head no, hoping that she’s referring to anything but the gunshot I heard back in the Capitol. “They got Haymitch – I don’t know what happened to him. I don’t know if he died or they put him in prison or if they just left him there to bleed! But he was hurt and there was blood!”

In an instant, her whole being has turned into a panicking mess and I’m lurching forward to grab her up in my arms, comforting her as I move us towards the ground.

“Shh, it’s okay,” I soothe, my hands rubbing up and down her back.

“Aw what a pity, what a sight,” The voice curdles my stomach as I look up to see Johanna Mason coming into view. She taunts from a distance as I wrap my arms even tighter around Katniss, unsure whether she’s friend or foe to this group.

“Leave them alone, Jo,” Finnick barks. The aura of threat dies from the woman and she slinks back out of my sight again. I’d thank him, but I still don’t trust him.

“What happened to _you_?” I whisper into her ear. From what I’ve seen, there’s no blood or broken bones. Pulling away, she regains her composure and wipes the tears from her face with her palms.

“They got me with the butt of a rifle – Cinna,” She puts her hand in her mouth and bites on it, clearly attempting to subdue another sob. “Cinna thinks they cracked a rib.” She finishes and I see it on her face.

Cinna was didn’t make it.

“Portia?” I ask hesitantly, knowing that Katniss understands what that woman means to me. She stares at me for a while and I grow weary of the question I have asked.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know,” She responds finally. I breathe a careful sigh of relief at the thought that maybe she’s still alive. If she wasn’t in the prison with me, at least.

“Alright folks, I hate to break up the rekindled love fest, but we’ve got to get rolling. We’re in the open out here like little ducks,” Finnick interjects after a while, reaching out a hand to help us up from the ground.

“It’s true, percentages are not in our favour here,” Beetee adds as I get to my feet and take over for Mags helping keep Katniss standing upwards. She shakes me off gently, insisting that she’s fine unless she’s out of breath. Nodding, I begin to head off in the partial direction that I’d come when Johanna grabs my arm.

“Get off!” I shout, shaking her out as she scowls.

“Are you a crazy fool? That time bomb is about to go off and you’ll get us all killed on that part of the clock!” She yells in return.

“ _What?_ ” I don’t understand a word of the argument that she’s just made. A clock? What clock?

“The Arena, it’s like a clock. That way has an acid fog, that way there are some mutts,” She gestures around to each spoke that runs from the center out into the water. “We don’t know what that one does,” She finishes, her hand pointing in the direction that I’d come from initially.

“The ground – it’s like it disappears,” I respond quietly, turning us and following the rest of the group into a different section.

“Oh.”

We don’t talk anymore as we head towards the shore, quietly walking in a single file line bordered by the teams from District 3 at the back and District 4 at the front. Only Johanna breaks the mould by tagging along with Finnick in the front.

The thump of something falling and the startled scream from Beetee are what breaks us from our daze. Spinning around we see Brutus standing over the limp woman I’ve been told is named Wiress, a liquid red smile dripping from her lips as his brutal laughter cracks through the air.

I’m reaching out and restraining Katniss from leaping forward before I even realize it, dragging her quicker towards the sand and nearly throwing her over my shoulder in the process.

“We have to kill him!” She screams reaching for the knife in my belt.

“No!” I yell and pull us towards the sand. “You have no idea what you’re up against,” I insist and turn to Finnick who’s watching the man loom over the body.

“What did they _do_ to you?” He asks and I frown, looking towards Katniss who’s itching to fight.

“You don’t want to know.”


	26. Chapter 26

I’m distracted when Brutus is thrown into the water with an axe in his chest. Though the cannon doesn’t fire out, there is no doubt in my mind that it won’t be long before it does and we’ll be rid of that danger in this Arena.

And then it’s only _us_ to worry about.

I try not to think about it, instead focusing on reaching the sand with Katniss by my side and still alive. When we crash down on the water’s edge, she’s huffing and groaning, her fingers pulling at her chest as she rolls onto her back in an attempt to draw in more air.

“We need to keep moving,” I insist and get to my feet, pulling her up under her arms and supporting her as we make our way through the line of trees and down the beach.

Finnick heads out ahead, marking our trail as though he knows the best route. At one point, he shouts and pulls on a red marker made of fabric and leads us out of the trees and back onto the beach. It’s only moments before the screech of monkeys seems to follow us along the forest edge and we’re forced closer to the water.

We keep moving, heading in circles for what seems like hours until we come upon a makeshift shelter that’s built into the trees. The ground is red surrounding it and I’m almost nervous to ask. I set Katniss down softly and put my palm to her cheek, rousing her from her fading consciousness due to pain and exhaustion.

“Blood rain,” Her voice creaks. I look around at the sand, taking in the crunchy darkened ground.

“We have 6 hours until it rains again – let’s get some rest and some food into us,” Finnick takes charge as he and Mags head out to the water. I leave Katniss to rest and find Beetee to try to be helpful.

 

 

“How many Tributes are dead?” I ask into her hair, holding her close as the dark of the night surrounds us.

Finnick is on guard with Mags, having offered to volunteer to ‘give the lovebirds some private time together’. I hadn’t argued or scoffed at his mocking – all I’d wanted since she’s appeared at the Cornucopia had been to hold her in my arms and breathe her in. And that’s what I was doing, right now. It felt right.

“Well, including the one who fell off her launch pad yesterday-“ I shake my head against her, my fingers finding hers along her stomach.

“She did it on purpose. Don’t confuse it.”

“Alright – okay. Fifteen in total, I think. The pairs from District’s 5, 9 and 10 all died in the original launch, the one from 6 with Cecelia – from 8 – and Woof, her partner. Seeder was killed in the acid, Blight hit the force field two days ago and Cashmere and Gloss disappeared somehow...” Her voice drifts off as the shiver runs down my spine. She doesn’t need to mention Wiress, I was there for that one.

There have been so many deaths already. So many dead _Victors_. It makes me nauseous.

“How long have I been gone?” I press on, distracting myself so that I don’t think about what’s happened to Brutus since we’ve yet to hear the cannon sound.

“Six days. You missed two before the launch and then we’ve been in here for four, well, five now. I think. I keep losing track, I’m sorry,” Her body shudders next to mine and I pull myself closer, pressing my lips to the crux of her neck.

“Don’t apologize, I wasn’t here to help, I should be the one saying sorry.”

The hiss emanating from her lips and the groan that echoes out of her chills me to the bone as she rolls over in my arms. Something seems worse than just some buggered up ribs, but I refuse to linger on it. She has to be alright. She will be alright.

“What happened to you in there? Mags told us some stuff, but we can barely understand her. All I got out of it was that they fixed her bones and made her watch old videos – that doesn’t seem so bad. I don’t think it could be that easy, not for a Victor,” She rushes on, her eyes searching mine in the dark.

I close them reactively, terrified that she’ll see what I’ve seen and run for the hills. I couldn’t stand it if she had to witness what I had.

“They gave me a new leg,” I murmur, my eyes still closed tight. She tries to sit up quickly but falters, pausing mid-movement to let out a yelp. I join her, knowing instinctively what she’s searching for as I pull up my pant leg to where the pincers lock into my skin. They shine red in the darkness, swollen and angry. I let her fingers wander over it carefully, sliding along the ridges and calming the enflamed skin.

“Does it hurt?”

“Only a bit.” I lie, looking over her shoulder to where Mags is watching me.

“What else?” She asks carefully, drawing my attention back to her with her hand on my jaw. I meet her head on, debating whether to tell her the truth or make up some story. I don’t want to lie, but part of me just thinks it’ll be better this way.

“We did some fighting training. And watched old Victor’s tapes. Kinda like what we were doing back in 12, but more intense.” I go for the half-truth, banking on the safe side so that I don’t push her away in fear. Narrowing her eyes, there’s a long pause between when I speak and when she opens her mouth to reply.

“I’ve spent too many days and nights with you Peeta to know when you’re lying to me,” She warns, her hands gripping my fingers over my thigh. I clench my eyes shut and lay back down, pulling her reluctant form with me.

“We watched people get tortured on video tape. For hours, alright?” I hiss, too ashamed at what I’ve seen to look at her while I admit it.

The first thing I feel is her palm on my cheek, then her lips on mine. It’s a chaste kiss, only barely touching my lips, but it’s still surprising.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” Her voice ghosts over me as her forehead slides against mine, coming to rest at my cheek as she slowly lays down next to me again.

“It was worse than our Games,” I reply, just as the images begin to flash through my mind again. They haunt worse than a nightmare, riling me up when I’m still awake.

“What do you think they did it for?”

“I don’t know – maybe to desensitize us? It just made me really angry.” I run my hand through my hair and pull on the ends, daring my body to feel pain in any part of me that isn’t my leg. It doesn’t much help, but still I keep trying as Katniss wraps herself against me.

We lay there in silence for a while, listening to the waves crest on the shore as the silence drags on. At one point, I think that she’s finally found some sleep when her breathing evens out. I’m startled when her hand grabs my collar tightly.

“I’m worried about you,” She whispers so quietly that I can barely hear it in my ear. “It seems too easy – right? Like there’s something more,” She voices my fears, bringing up what I don’t dare say out loud.

“Don’t think about it. Please, Katniss. I came here with a purpose – let me do that and everything will be fine,” I reply, trying to force the tension out of my body.

The silence consumes us once more, dragging her down into the depths of sleep while I stare at the false stars above us.

It’s only an hour or two before Finnick is at my side, rousing us with a plate of shelled fish and telling us that we need to get a move on before the rain comes.

 

 

Another day passes of rotating through the clock. Beetee starts to mutter to himself about coils and wires and electricity but I can barely take any of it in. Nobody else seems really too intent on listening either, everyone is more focused on keeping an eye out for the wounded Brutus.

Mags and I both share desperate looks when we realize that he’s likely survived based on what they’ve done to us as volunteers.

That’s when I stop spending time alone with Katniss. That’s when she notices it immediately.

“What are you trying to _say_?”

Her words are like a slap, burning me like a wound.

“I’m saying I think we should have split rotations so no one is in danger. I’ll take watch with Mags so that we’re segregated and nobody gets hurt.”

We’ve taken a poll, Johanna and Mags agree, but the rest seem to think it foolish to pair up the two altered Tributes. I don’t see it that way – all I want is to ensure that I don’t strangle Katniss in my sleep one night when I least expect it.

I don’t mention to anyone that I’ve started to hear echoes of Portia giving me tips on the Arena.

“That’s stupid!” She nearly spits with rage, clearly seeing my request as a personal offence instead of intended as something to protect her. I nearly sigh, tired of the game where she keeps trying to make sure I live instead of her.

“Just, settle down Katniss. Ok?”

Even Finnick laughs at my words, knowing full well as I do that once they pass my lips they’re the last things you should ever say to a scorned Katniss.  I don’t bother to move away from the incoming slap, prepared to take it on my chin.

But it never connects.

My fist is up, circling around her wrist and squeezing of its own accord, holding her hand at bay. When I realize what I’ve done, I force myself backwards, stumbling to the sand and crab-crawling to the water’s edge. The group looks at me wearily, eying me with contempt.

“That wasn’t you, Peeta,” Mags calls out, clear as day. It’s the most understandable thing she’s said since I’ve known her and that thought gets under my skin.

“I know. _This_ is what I’m saying!” I shout, staying put on the ground, watching everyone with wide eyes. “I can’t control myself sometimes, I’m dangerous.”

 “You’ve been fine though,” Finnick adds, side stepping until he hovers between Katniss and I. Absently, he reaches out an arm and lowers Katniss’ palm from where it still hovers in shock from my actions. The tension only rises.

“And what happens when we’re not?” Mags suggests, moving carefully closer to where I lay in the sand.

“It’ll be fine!” Beetee shouts, startling us all. “You know what’s going to happen, it will be _fine_.”

I watch as  Johanna’s fists clench at her sides, opening and closing like the beat of a heart. Somehow our actions have nicked a nerve in Johanna’s operation and she’s struggling to hold her temper. I look to Mags nervously and then back to the four of our teammates.

“We need to distance ourselves,” I affirm. I stare at Katniss over Finnick’s shoulder while I say it, silently promising her that I’ll keep her safe no matter the cost. I’ll take down every body standing here if I have to.

“No,” Katniss finally interjects, stepping forward and moving Finnick out of the way. Johanna lurches for her arm but she shakes it loose, shooting an angry look at her. “We stick together. We use this. We find Brutus and Enobaria, and Chaff, and we deal with them. Then we figure this out.”

“Then Mags and I will keep watch, further down the beach,” I agree, making for a compromise.

The look on Katniss’ face, like I’m abandoning her, shocks straight to my system and makes my gut clench in response. Her shoulders fall a little as she nods, looking back at the other three and seeing if they agree.

With each nod of the head, Mags and I become a tool of the team, and no longer part of it. We’re different now – there’s no going back.

 

 

The first watch is difficult. Katniss tries repeatedly to join us on watch, each time getting shot down or told to go rest. She doesn’t take it lightly, pulling out all the stops as she tries to remind me of what I _don’t_ have to miss at home. She forgets that everything I need is right here with me and that when these Games end, so do I.

It’s only into the second hour when Mags starts discussing her transformation with me in speckled detail. She tries hard to make her words clear, but constantly seems to get lost in a slip of the tongue or a fall back into a language that I have no comprehension of.

For what I do follow along with, she had a very similar treatment to mine. They doped her up magnificently and gave her a medicine to heal the osteoporosis that she apparently suffered from which in turn made her body behave in a younger fashion. Her command training was subtly different, focusing on tasks and word manipulations so that she could speak clearer and use her words to steer her intent. I’m most surprised by this development, purely based on the fact that she has Finnick’s ear who in turn has Johanna’s.

Which in the end, means Katniss and I are the target of this alliance, should it dissolve too quickly.

I’m a little more candid in my descriptions, relaying only partial bits of what training I’ve received. There’s no hiding the alteration to my leg and the way they’ve increased my strength, that’s a given with the way I move now, but I don’t tell her about the command combinations in full. I minimize it, instead focusing on the idea of movement control and dealing with that change. Mags doesn’t question it and I start to wonder if she manipulated me in the same way.

As the hours pass, Mags takes the lead on gathering food from the water, knowing which fish to pull and which to leave alone. She teaches me how to spin a net with my twine and clean the fish with my knife, preparing them for the rest of the group as the sun crests over the trees.

“Good morning.” I lean over Katniss, my fingers tapping on her chin to wake her from her sleep. I try not to notice that she’s distanced herself from the others, choosing instead to curl up alone off to the side instead of lying on the mat weaved earlier in the day.

“Is it time to move?” She asks, her hands covering her eyes as she avoids me.

“Not yet – breakfast first.”

Setting down her plate at her nose, I try to ignore the sting of rejection as I wander back towards Mags on the edge of the water. I attempt not to be annoyed with the way Katniss has chosen to treat me in light of this decision – it’s the right one, and it won’t matter in a few days anyways when she’s the Victor.

In the distance, I hear the click of the insects in the nearby section and try to hum to myself to cover up the haunting sound.

“Today we try the plan,” Beetee surprises us by walking up behind. His voice seems far away as we watch him scan the skyline and focus on a place in the distance. “How many hours until the lightning?”

“Four, I think,” I reply, trying to process the math in my head. Beetee nods in agreement and settles down to eat his portion of the meal. Slowly the others join us, forming a careful circle around the food. Katniss stays off for as long as she can before Johanna drags her over and forces her down next to me. Resting my hand on her leg, I watch her out of the corner of my eye as Beetee explains what we’re going to do.

“So we kill everything?” Johanna pipes up at the end, her eyes sparking with the thought. My hand inadvertently squeezes on Katniss’ thigh and she covers it with hers, quietly reassuring me that we’re still in this together.

“Exactly,” Beetee confirms.

“And then what about us? Two Victors was a little much last year – I don’t think we could get away with six,” I mumble, pointing out the obvious.

“We’ll get to that bridge when we have to cross it,” Mags replies carefully, her thin fingers patting my shoulder comfortingly. Though honestly, not much comfort can be had from that realization.

We pack up what we can of the temporary camp and head clockwise around the beaches, determined to reach the section with the tree with enough time to set the trap. For the duration of the hike, Katniss refuses to let me out of her sight, entwining her hand in mine and reassuring me that I’m not a danger to anyone.

I try not to scoff. I try to savour the time I have with her. Every time she mentions it I steer us back to conversations from home and recounts of our favourite memories. She tells me more about her father and Prim, while I regale her with stories of the bake shop.

When we finally reach the base of the tree, deep in the woods and up the mountainous hill, Mags and I opt to separate ourselves from the group by running the wire to the water as per Beetee’s plans. Only Katniss objects, as she has done to anything that takes me further than five feet from her.

“I’ll meet you when it’s over, in the next section,” I affirm, placing a kiss on her knuckles as my other arm pulls her to my chest. We cling to each other for a moment before she pulls away, wiping her fist against her eyes.

“Let’s get this shit done,” She grunts and sniffs, trying to hide the tears that threaten to fall.

Beetee takes the lead on the plan and wraps the wire, handing the spool to me and nodding his good luck. I don’t stick around for a further goodbye, instead racing off into the depths of the trees and down the slope with better footing than the day I came in. Mags is quick on my heels, offering to take the spool about halfway down.

“I’ve got it,” I reply, just as my false foot catches in a looped vine. My heavy body comes crashing down with a thump as the spool falls from my hands.

“Don’t worry – I’m on it,” Mags shouts, scooping it up and bolting down the hill. We don’t have much time so I don’t even bother to argue as I get back to my feet and follow the golden wire down the hill. Up ahead, I see Mags disappear beyond the breach of the trees just as a net comes tangling into my legs. I don’t get a step further as I come crashing down, thrashing at the entangling thread that surrounds me.

That’s when I notice that the wire has been cut. Struggling harder, I try to pull myself free of the golden string only to find my hands bloody and ripped with each pull. I pause, sucking in a breath and try to relax as I begin to slip it off of first my feet, then my shins. It takes too long and I know the timing is about to be missed when Katniss comes bolting out of the trees with her bow in hand.

“Peeta!” She screams and it echoes around us. For a second, I debate whether to stay away. I’m not given the choice when another body breaks through the trees and traps her to the ground. My fake leg remains only partially tangled when I throw myself into the fray, adding a third body and a hell of a lot of confusion to the fight.

Enobaria is incredibly powerful, kicking out her legs and lashing her teeth at my arm to draw blood.

_Left grab, knee tuck, toss_

The voice rings out in my head and I don’t have a chance to be terrified of the command before my hand is reaching out and gripping the woman’s hair and thrusting it down towards my knee. The contact vibrates through my bones as I feel her jaw smash and her body go limp before I throw her away.

The cannon booms.

“Peeta,” Katniss whimpers, staring at me as I huff out above her. I force myself to my feet, pushing back from her and kicking my leg finally free of the gold wire. Wiping my jaw of the trickle of blood that creeps down my chin from where someone hit me, I look away, desperate to have Katniss pull herself together before its too late.

I don’t need to wait any longer.

Katniss is back on her feet, rushing up towards the tree where she’s just come from. I follow behind quickly, keeping pace with her unlike I’ve ever been able to do before. When we reach the tree the first thing we see is an unconscious Beetee, lying at its base with blood pouring from his arm. Picking up the wire from the ground, Katniss lifts and attaches it to an arrow, frantically tying a knot I’ve only seen Finnick complete in such quick time.

“He tried to pierce the force field,” Katniss says, catching me off guard.

I hear the other body bursting through the trees before I see him, launching towards us with a barred knife.

“Finnick!” Katniss shouts, startled and dropping the arrow as he grips her arm tightly in his hands.

“This will only hurt for a moment,” He shouts, and digs the blade into her arm. I’m on him in a flash, ripping him backwards and tossing him to the ground with such a force that the knife falls from his fist. He eyes me carefully before rolling over and grabbing at the blade. Faster than I think, he launches himself towards me and we tumble down the hill with a new found force.

“Get off!” I growl when my back hits a tree stump and my muscles scream in shock. Finnick’s hands find my throat as he tries to subdue me. In the back of my mind, I’m wondering where all of my command powers are right now.

“Just – _trust me_ ,” Finnick gasps as his fingers wrap around my throat. I feel the blade enter my skin and flick just as the explosion rings out around us.


	27. Chapter 27

There’s a steady hum surrounding me, intermixed with a low beep that moves with my heart. I don’t open my eyes, not completely sure if I even want to ever wake up again. My head hurts, my body hurts, and I have no idea what the hell is pumping this incredible amount of heat into my body. I’m nearly on fire.

Beep. Beep. _Beep_.

It carries on, a constant comfort that slowly leads me to finally open my eyes and look at the room around me. Well, look at the ceiling. If I move any part of my head the nausea that swarms me nearly ends with my choking on my own vomit.

I’m in a cement room, that’s for sure. The echo and the grey tiles tell of something permanent and hard edged. There’s absolutely no way that I’m in the Arena any more.

Oh _fuck_. I have to look, I have to see. I have to find her.

Carefully, I swivel my head left, my eyes meeting another grey cinder block wall. Inside my stomach rolls with bile as my vision spins.

I remember an explosion. I remember Finnick and his knife.

 _Trust me_ , he’d said. I could almost laugh.

After a moment, I gently turn my head until I’m facing in the opposite direction. The beat of my heart nearly stops as my breath catches in my throat. There, to my right, lay the Mockingjay. My Katniss Everdeen. Covered in tubes and machines and a whole plethora of things that just makes her look not _right_.

The panic that filled me at that moment made all of the nausea disappear. Pulling myself off of the bed, I stagger over the edge and collapse onto the floor, tearing loose wire after wire that is strapped into my veins. I ignore it, desperate to reach her and find her pulse.

In another time, I’d have realized that the beeping noise from before was _her_ heart beating, comforting me subconsciously.

But right now, I don’t see it that way. All I see is her pale skin and dark mangled hair cascading across the pillow as a large white tube remains inserted into her mouth. I’ve never seen such a medical procedure and it terrifies me.

Finding my feet (foot), I hobble my way closer to her bedside and reach for her face. My fingers find her lips, the feel of her breath on my skin, and the steady movement of blood within her veins. It’s only then that I can breathe again – that I notice the alarms screeching out behind me from my own abandoned machines.

When the emergency response team finds me, I’ve already climbed up beside her and am lying with my head resting against the sturdy sound of her heart beat in her chest.

 

 

I still don’t know where we are, but the quiet agreement that the doctors had made as a result of my pleading to stay right here, next to her, was enough to at least partially convince me that this isn’t a hostile treatment center.

Though I will resist total judgement until I see someone who answers me a single damn question.

After the panic from earlier the medical staff has taken to reinserting my morphling drip and supplying me with fluids via the tubes in my arm. I try not to get them tangled with Katniss’ as my arms skirt around her waist, careful not to impact any of her own treatment process.

She still hasn’t woken up when the morphling knocks me under again.

 

 

When I wake, I’m no longer in a bed. Instead I’m on my back, looking up towards a solid plastic rounded wall that almost seems to encase me. The panic is nearly instant as my heart beats frantically and my arms thrash out at the roaring machine that traps me down.

“Peeta Mellark – Calm down,” The voice coming through the intercom is strangely familiar but I can’t quite squeeze it from my memory. It doesn’t really matter, no matter who I hear overhead, there’s no way I can stay in this space any longer as my fingers scratch at the surface and press at the walls. Soon my breathing starts to falter as I feel a pressure on my chest, almost as though the walls are closing in on me. Hyperventilation is the next step.

And then I feel the ground below me moving.

I’m thrust into the openly harsh light of the room around me, forcing my eyes to squeeze shut. I feel the hands on my arms, steadying them down to the table below, as my thrashing begins to become minimal. Soon after, my breathing evens out and the hands release from my wrists.

“Mellark, I watched your first Games, you managed to survive tighter spaces than that one without this reaction.” My eyes open once again to the bright lights and I struggle to focus in, finding myself staring towards a robust man nearly bursting from his tailored suit.

“Well I’m not used to suffocating in a machine,” I pause, looking at the man and trying to place him. In the moment that passes, he claps his hands jovially and moves about the small room talking into his wristwatch in undertones that I can’t quite hear.

That’s when it clicks and the bubble of fear inside me bursts free.

Plutarch Heavensbee. Head Gamemaker.

Bad. This is a bad place to be. This is the Capitol. I need to find Katniss. We need to get out of here.

I don’t think, pulling out the wires frantically as I slip from the table and crash into a tray of utensils that look sharp in the harsh light. I’m staggering for the door, stumbling with the effects of the morphling that I remember being shot up with, when I feel the hand on my shoulder pulling me backwards. Quick like lightening, I thrash out, spinning my arm until it connects with the man.

“Get _away_ from me,” I snarl, crouching at the door that remains locked behind me. I’m nearly feral in my rage, panting as my hands curl into fists. We stare at each other for a moment, sizing ourselves up. He takes a step forward just as I press my back flush against the door, ready to pounce if necessary.

“I _told_ you he didn’t want to see your ugly mug when he woke up,” Relief nearly drowns me as the door opens up behind me, toppling me backwards. But it’s not the idea of freedom that excites me, it’s the voice. Looking up from my place on the floor I see Haymitch step over me, pushing into the room to address the Gamemaker. I’m still on my back when he turns towards me in the room and cocks an eyebrow in my direction. “You getting up kid? Or do we need a gurney?”

“Where’s Katniss?” The words fall from my lips as the thought comes crashing in. Pulling myself up by the doorframe, I see Haymitch look towards the other man carefully.

“She’s still unconscious,” I don’t miss the way his words shake slightly or the way his eyes flicker away from mine. It’s too similar to a lie, too close to something terrible. My body propels me forward until I’m gripping his collar in my hands as he presses his boot-knife along my throat. “I’ll always be faster,” He reminds and my hands fall.

“Where are we?” The anger and suspicion continue to boil in my gut as the fear levels out. I know better than to try to fight here.

“District 13!” Plutarch shouts happily from the other side of the room. Haymitch and I both shoot him a dark glance, silently telling him to shut the fuck up. With the way he slinks back, I know it’s been received loud and clear.

“The Quell Arena was destroyed. We gathered up as many of you as we could and brought you back here,” Haymitch responds.

“Who?” I decide that I need the facts first. I need to know the players and the motives and the reasons and they’ll come, but not soon enough.

“We got you all.”

My first reaction is relief. And then I remember who exactly was alive at the end. Chaff and Brutus both were rescued as well. All the living Volunteers in one place.

In District 13.

“What the hell is District 13?” This probably should have been the first question out of my mouth but clearly I’m not thinking quite straight. My mind is still wobbly, nausea coming and going as it pleases.

“It’s the home of the rebellion, Peeta. They’ve been fighting the Capitol since the Dark Days, pretending they don’t exist and living underground until they could attack. The Quell put everything finally in motion,” Haymitch says evenly, watching my reaction. The way his eyes flicker to and from my clenching hands makes me think he knows more about what happened to the Volunteers. 

“Weren’t  you _shot_?” The night of my capture comes rushing back to me in a wave, forcing through my memories and making my hands once again come to his shoulders. My fingers press into his cheeks, checking for any illusion that would prove his falsity as he barks out a vicious laugh.

“I was, I’m better, now get your goddamn hands off me unless you want me to deck you,” I quickly find my hands back at their sides, clenching and unclenching as I try to process every bit of information that I’ve been fed.

In all honesty, I’m incredibly confused. I was ready to die in that Arena to make sure Katniss got home. Now she’s unconscious somehow and we’ve all been picked up by an extinct underground District who’s apparently been vying for the rebellion for decades? It almost all seems like some ridiculous mindfuck, one that I’m not sure I can handle right now.

“Why am I even here? In this room?” I struggle to keep it together, but all I really want is to find my way back to Katniss and run away from here with her. Haymitch simply looks at me a moment, seemingly sensing my rising tension and pondering how to approach what he’s got to say.

“See this mark here, kid?” He starts, motioning to the wound in my arm that’s bandaged. The same place where Finnick dug his knife into me. I nod slowly, frowning at him. “You were supposed to have a tracker – that’s how they Gamemakers track you, remember?”

Plutarch on the other side of the room seems absolutely beaming as he watches Haymitch and I. I can sense without a doubt that he wants to jump in and explain all of the complexities in this year’s games, but I’m not sure I’d want to hear it. Out of anyone, he probably has the best idea of what’s happened to me and I’m not sure how much everyone knows. It makes me very nervous.

“Well, you didn’t have an arm tracker. Finnick tried to get it out, but you didn’t have one. Even Plutarch has no idea where your tracker is, so we brought you up here to see if it’d show up on the scan but your fool self couldn’t handle a tight space,” Haymitch finishes and looks back at the other man who nods his head excessively. I can’t help but scoff in his direction.

“Shouldn’t _you_ of all people know where it is?” I sneer, tiring of this man and his games and his existence. Plutarch only laughs.

“Shouldn’t _you_ , my dear boy?” When I look at him, unmoving, he quickly retreats again, lowering his visible excitement and becoming the welcoming politician he’d have to be to get his job. “The Volunteer program was handled completely out of my hands this year. Even as Head Gamemaker I was uninvited to its programming. Every year, President Snow has the opportunity to have creative powers over any part of the Games. Typically, he rescinds this power, but with this year being a Quarter Quell, he decided to participate. The Volunteer program was his addition to the Games and only a select few were involved. As Gamemaker, he wants to keep us on our feet to create the best reactive programming for our audience by promoting suspense and surprise.”

His words leave me spinning. This man should not be anywhere near me. He’s not on our side. He takes far too much pleasure from the Games to truly be on the side of this ‘rebellion’. My feet lurch towards him before I even recognize what I’m doing when I grab him up in my hands and shove him backwards towards the cement.

“This isn’t a fucking _game_ anymore!” Seething, I spin towards Haymitch, my nostrils flaring as I look at him with disdain. “I don’t know where the chip is. I just want to see Katniss. Take me to her, please,” There’s more calmness in my voice now, a rare happening reserved for getting my way.

Haymitch doesn’t bother to argue as we set out down the hallways, leaving a sputtering Plutarch on the floor. Apparently Haymitch has little taste for the man himself – for which I’m thankful.

The hallways leading from the scanning room back to wherever we’re going all look the same. I hope to myself silently, as I try to keep up, that I’ll never have to find my way back here. I’d get lost for sure.

“What’s wrong with her?” I ask, catching up to my Mentor’s hurried pace. Though I appreciate his urgency, I’m quickly falling behind as my stomach rolls and my leg screams out in pain.

“There was a lot of internal damage from the explosion. They had to repair it in early surgery and she hasn’t come off the ventilator yet. It shouldn’t be long now though,” He answers too calmly. I try not to read too much into it – even I know that Haymitch has times where he needs to be more refined than he actually is.

“And everyone else?”

“Finnick suffered a concussion – nothing too bad. Mags got into a battle with Brutus near the water and nearly drowned but the old woman still has some fight left in her. Brutus is under medical watch – we’re trying to determine whether he’ll flip or not. Johanna and Beetee seemed to get off easy – minor scrapes and bruises. The worst is Chaff – though it seems self-imposed,” I don’t think Haymitch notices it, but he fades out at the end, almost as if he knows that his friend is waning on the side of death.

We walk together the rest of the way in silence, winding through the dim passageways and only crossing a few people who seem to be scattering in all directions. When we come upon the hospital ward, the place is absolutely humming with machinery and people. Nurses from all directions watch as we stride past, all eyes on us. I try to ignore it but it feels like every stare is burning through my flesh.

“Here we are,” Haymitch grunts, pushing open the door and stopping mid-stride so that I nearly crash into him. “Jo.”

My gaze falls on Johanna who’s sitting nearly vigil at Katniss’ side. I want to leap at her, protect Katniss from everything that this woman from my nightmares may bring. I don’t trust her, not even one little bit. But Haymitch seems to. I don’t know how to feel about it.

“Ah Loverboy, out and about already,” She quips, rising to her feet with a jerky lift. Instead of a greeting, I step over to the chair that’s she’s just abandoned and slide into it, resting my hand protectively over Katniss’ fingers. She laughs, Haymitch frowns. “Not even one for pleasantries – after all we’ve done, eh old man?”

“Leave it alone, Jo,” Haymitch warns carefully, watching me out of the corner of his eye. I try not to notice the way they all shift on their feet to watch me as my fingers stroke across Katniss’ forehead.

“Oh well, sister here will rise from the dead like she’s done before. Don’t you two fret. We had a long chat on the beach, really bonded over our childhoods. Well, if you can bond over having nothing in common,” Her bitter laugh hurts my ears. I try not to listen, but she blathers on, seemingly at wits end with the way she babbles. I’d never have expected it from such a hard core killer – at least not the way she’s been portrayed since she won. Maybe Johanna Mason is not what she seems. “She’ll get it together, Bread Boy. Said she made a promise and from what I’ve seen, she keeps them.”

At that, Johanna disappears from the room with a swish and leaves Haymitch and I to our silence.

 

 

It’s the middle of the night when she finally starts to wake. It’s also the most terrifying thing I’ve ever seen.

Laying alongside her, I’m watching her chest rise and fall with every mechanical click. The machine never stops, never shudders, never gives any sort of signs of ‘life’, despite, well, being a life-saving machine. It’s fake, just like my leg. I’m too distracted by the perfect timing to notice that her eyes have started to move behind her eyelids. In an instant, she’s in the throes of a nightmare that brings her screaming to the surface, inadvertently choking on the tube in her throat.

Shooting up, I kneel on the edge of the bed and try to calm her, my own heart racing nearly out of my chest. My fingers find the buzzer to call medical personnel but time seems to drag. Her eyes are as wide as saucers as her nails grip into my wrists and she tries to pull at the tube in her throat. She’s struggling to breathe, clawing at her neck and drawing blood as the nightmare and the reality collide.

“Katniss, wake up. Calm down – it’s alright! You’re safe! Relax!” I shout out whatever comes to mind, brushing my hands along her face and trying to draw her attention to me from her dream. I’m not sure which state of reality has more hold on her when her fingers grip in my shirt and rip the fabric’s collar. The panic in me rises with every minute that she can’t take a breath and I start to scream for the help that never seems to come.

Quickly, without thought, my hand finds hers and squeeze with everything I have. Her eyes finally find mine then and focus in, desperation filling her features as her throat sputters and her body thrashes. In another instant I’m watching her eyes grow even wider just before I’m pulled from her side by an arm around my neck.

“Katniss!” I scream it out, watching as the medical team surrounds her bed and launches themselves at her. The arm from around my neck disappears and I scuttle back, trying to regain my breath and settle my heart before I dive back in. My instinct is to defend, but my mind is yelling to be patient.

“Peeta,” Out of the corner I hear my name being called. When I look over, the familiar face of Primrose Everdeen fills my vision and I nearly collapse with relief at the sight of her. I can tell by the way she’s looking at me with concern that I’m babbling in panicked bouts. “She’s going to be fine, Peeta, they’re just sedating her so they can remove the tube. We didn’t expect her awake so soon,” Prim finishes, holding my hands in hers and trying to talk me down from the edge.

I’m not sure at what point exactly I became so desperately worked up, but I know that I have been when the adrenaline seems to finally filter out of me. I watch for what seems like hours as the doctors inject tubes and change bags that hang from metal poles. Every action counts and every movement is explained quietly to me as Prim rubs my back and watches the doctors work.

When finally the bodies dissipate, Prim leads my exhausted self back towards the bed where Katniss is asleep on her side, the tube finally removed.

“See, Peeta, she’s alright,” The little girl whispers. I look to her then, the little girl who started this whole thing, and see not a little girl, but someone braver than nearly everyone I’ve ever met. It strikes me then that I’m in District 13, and Prim should be in 12. She sees the confusion and the flustered way that I’m trying to form the question, but all she does is pat the back of my hand and insist I crawl up into the bed. “Sleep now, everything will make sense tomorrow,” She urges quietly, pulling another blanket over me.

“Thank you, little duck,” I rasp, using Katniss’ favourite nickname for her sister. The girl smiles widely at me before pressing a kiss to her sister’s forehead and disappearing out of the room. It doesn’t take long for me to fall asleep, not with the reassurance that everything will be alright tomorrow.

I know it likely won’t be, I’m not naive anymore, but hearing it does more good for my soul than anything else you could say to any Victor right now.

 


	28. Chapter 28

Katniss is awake. She’s with Prim now, holding her so tightly that I don’t think the little girl will ever be let go. Mrs Everdeen watches from the side, every once in a while hastily wiping a tear from her cheek or shooting an inconspicuous look of disdain in my direction.

She doesn’t quite trust me this time around. I couldn’t blame her.

“How did you _get_ here?” Katniss asks again, still hazy from the drugs coursing through her system. I watch from my own bed, lying down with my head resting on my arm.

“They destroyed District 12,” Mrs Everdeen whispers. Katniss barely stalls, her fingers continuing to stroke her sisters tears from her cheeks.

“How did you know where to go?”

“They came and found us after Gale got us all out. He saved us.” They, as in District 13.

I try to ignore the jealous way I think her mother makes Gale sound better for her. Stuffing down the idea, I focus on how I actually knew Gale to be a good person. Hadn’t I promised to get Katniss home so that he could take care of her?

 “Where is he?” Katniss asks quietly. Rolling over onto my back, I stifle the sigh that escapes from my chest. It was a terrible idea to stick around for this conversation but I knew that I couldn’t leave her. Not now, not ever.

“He’s in training. District 13 put him in the military!” Prim perks up, lifting herself up from where she’s been burrowed into her sister’s side. I can’t stop the way my eyes keep flicking in their direction. “They’ve got me training in the hospital even!”

The squeal of laughter and the sound of Katniss’ choking pull my wavering attention back. When I look over, she’s grasping at her side and Prim is moving away to let her mother pull down her dressing. The woman ‘tsks’ to herself and presses a few buttons on the machine by the bedside.

“Should have told me your dose was so low,” She huffs under her breath. Katniss only scoffs as her eyes begin to droop.

“Didn’t want to sleep, wanted to see...” She fades out at the end, morphling pulling her under before she could finish the sentence.

When she’s effectively asleep, Mrs Everdeen turns to me, trying best to hide her scowl. The same scowl that Katniss wears so often.

“If I so much as get word-“ She starts but is interrupted by her daughter.

“Mum!” Prim shouts. The woman clamps her mouth shut, watching me warily before stomping from the room. The little girl looks at me sadly after her departure, sliding over to my bedside and resting a hand on my shoulder. “She doesn’t mean anything by it Peeta – she’s just worried. They didn’t really explain on TV what happened to you in there, just kept saying it was a surprise. She doesn’t know what to expect, is all.”

“And what do you expect?” I mumble, watching her. She’s so young. So innocent. I don’t anticipate the answer I get.

“You love her too much to hurt her, no matter what they’ve done to you.”

It’s short and simple and _honest_. I don’t know if I trust her but I want to, so badly. Prim grins at me.

“You can go sleep with her now, I’ll keep mum busy until tomorrow,” Her hand squeezes my shoulder, insisting that I get to my feet and join her on her bed. Hesitating at first, I find myself staggering in next to her as Prim leaves us alone.

I try not to think of the train and how good it feels to have her pressed against me again. 

 

 

We’re staring at each other, buck naked, in a mirror in some communal bathroom off the corridor of some hallway that we wandered down through at some point in the day.

In all honesty, we got here because being cooped up in our room, hooked up to machines that beeped and buzzed for hours, just seemed to be making us stir crazy. So we’d run. We’d pulled the power, then the wires, then pressed the buttons as we realized that the screeching sound of alarms going off wouldn’t pass anytime soon. I’d pushed Katniss into the wheelchair near the door and had headed out into the hallway, speed walking with all the energy I could muster.

They’d probably let us run away on purpose. We hadn’t nearly been fast enough to truly escape. But it didn’t matter, not really. We’d needed to get out of there, to have a moment to ourselves. To look at each other, to look at _ourselves_ , in a mirror.

Her ribs were too sharp. Her cheek bones were prominent. A vibrant red scar spanned six inches on the side of her abdomen and burn marks from the explosion were still pink as they flickered up from her wrist. Her arm was still slightly torn up from when the knife had removed the tracker from her. She was beautiful.

I wasn’t so good. The muscle mass from the Volunteer program hadn’t disappeared which made my shoulders and arms look unreal and foreign to me. My false leg, now fully embedded in the muscle of my thigh was stark grey steel against the pale skin. The thick scar near my shoulder blazed in the fluorescent light, faintly reminding me that I was still in a game somehow. I was pale, I was thin, and I looked ghastly.

But it didn’t matter. Looking up from my personal assessment, I stared into the mirror and met Katniss’ calm grey eyes, watching steadily as her body swayed slightly. This was her first real adventure out of that room since we’d been rescued and she was determined to keep standing.

“I missed you,” I say quietly, the words echoing in the room behind us. It’s the first time we’ve been really, truly, completely alone in a very long time. There’s no cameras here, no hiding microphones to record us. I watch as she licks her lip hesitantly, biting her cheek as her eyes flicker over my reflection in the mirror. When her gaze returns to mine, she grins sheepishly and my pale skin flushes. “Come here.” The words tumble from my lips, my hands seeking her out and finding purchase on her lips as I turn her until she’s seated on the counter, my legs pressed in between hers.

She gasps. I groan.

My lips find her in a rush, crashing down upon hers as my tongue escapes into her mouth. She tastes like medicine and iron but it doesn’t matter because the feel of her under my fingertips as they run along her thigh makes me grow hard in a heartbeat.

“Careful,” She hisses, lifting her leg up until it hooks around my waist. I pull back slightly at her words, my hands coming to cup her jaw as I look into her foggy eyes, gauging her pain and her pleasure and truly seeing if this is something she wants and not just a whim because we’re both naked and alone.

I stare for too long. I get lost in her eyes. Her hand coming up to brush against my cheek startles me as I realize her fingers leave damp. I wasn’t expecting to _cry_. The sad smile she gives me and the unshed tears in her own eyes brings me back to reality, my body pressing into hers as our lips meet in a quiet kiss.

“I love you too much,” I whisper under my breath, almost too low to be audible. 

It’s so fucking true. I’d kill if it meant to save her. I’d die if it meant she lived. I was so far gone it was unreal.

“Show me,” Her words surprise me, pulling me out of my reflection and into a lust filled haze as we push into each other and grasp. My hands cup her breasts, squeezing as she lets out a sigh, shifting her hips until I feel her wet center brush against my length. It’s my turn to bite my lip as her breath tickles my ear and her hand wraps around my length, pulling and teasing with every stroke. When it gets to be almost too much, I move my hips away from her reach and pull a nipple into my mouth, biting lightly as my fingers trace her abdominal scar. The grunt of pain she lets out has me stumbling backwards, giving us some space to breathe.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” I mutter, my hands in my hair and pulling tightly.

“You won’t,” The words are so certain, so calm, that I nearly moan as she reaches out towards me. “Come back.”

I don’t hesitate. I’ll give her everything.

When we touch, her skin burns and her kisses turn frantic. Wrapping her legs around me again her fingers graze my stomach, running through the hair at my navel and sliding down until she’s gripping me firmly in her hand and brushing my length against her core. I step closer, slipping myself inside and feeling her skin stretch to accommodate me. She’s on fire and I’m burning with her.

We move together slowly, my body stroking her inside and out.

“Ugh, Peeta, I love this,” She groans into my ear and I feel her hand playing at where we join, her fingers rubbing against herself in a bold move. I take the opportunity to lean back and watch us move together before my hand cups hers and replaces her motions. My lips on her mouth silence her words, forcing her breath into my lungs. 

I pick up speed, feeling her body clench around mine as we near the tell-tale cliff that we’ll both jump off too soon.

“Kat-“ Her nails are biting the skin of my shoulder.

“Fuck me, just... Dammit,” She gasps as her face tightens and she squeezes her eyes shut, her mouth falling open slightly. I’m almost frantic at her now, pushing myself into her deeper as I feel her walls pull at my length. Her brutal words and the look on her face of pure ecstasy nearly throw me over the edge. I grip her hips in my hands, thrusting into her as her moans spark higher. “Peeta, I’m gunna... Again...”

I feel it then, the rush and the shaking of her legs as her body seizes me in a tight grip. The hands on my shoulder pull me close as I feel her muscles surrounding me, milking my length.

 _Pull out_.

I can’t say a thing as I pull myself away, my hand gripping me tightly as my release spurts across the floor.

The voice in my head sets me on edge as I try to breathe, noticing that I didn’t have much control of what’s just happened.

Dammit, we had to be more careful than this. I had to be more careful.

We stand apart from each other, listening to the sounds of our laboured breathing while we both come down from our high.

“Why’d you pull away?” Katniss startles me with her question. It’s direct and there’s not a hint of fear or reservation in it. My returning look, the one I give her when I turn to see her, melts from my face as I take in the sight of her. Her cheeks are flushed and her hair has fallen from its braid as her heels kick off the cabinet below.

Never in a million years did I expect us to be so casual about this. Doesn’t that mean something? What the hell are we even doing in this foreign place, mucking around in some bathroom like uncontrollable animals?

More importantly, what was _I_ doing? Putting her at risk by hiding us away from everyone so she’d be alone if I... No. I can’t think about it.

I don’t say anything in response to her question. I just stare. She just stares in return. At least until there’s a knock at the door and a man shouting about common space and locks and stupid District 12 citizens.

We hastily dress, throwing our medical robes on. Katniss pulls her hair loose from what remains of its braid as she hobbles to the chair, awkwardly carrying her body after what we’ve just done. A rush of guilt pools in my gut knowing that I might have hurt her even more. It’s another five minutes before I pull open the door and wheel her into the hallway, mumbling about needing an emergency toilet.

The man doesn’t even bother to acknowledge us.

 

 

Back in the ward, Haymitch is waiting, sitting in the chair in the corner and tapping his foot against the floor. He looks dishevelled and fraught with something that almost looks like... concern? Sadness, maybe? I help Katniss casually back into her bed, my fingers loitering on her hips for a moment too long before she laughs lightly at my touch.

Haymitch notices – the man doesn’t miss a beat. His raised eyebrow results in a blush from Katniss and a shrug from me. We don’t need to explain ourselves. I don’t think we could, even if we had to.

“Up to no good?” He snarks. I merely choose to sit on my own bed on the other side of the room after hooking up Katniss’ meds again to her IV. “Fine, don’t play. Doesn’t matter.”

She fades quickly, falling back under the spell of the morphling drip that the doctors insist she has. I look to Haymitch then, meeting his gaze.

“What’s going on?” I ask after a while, giving in to the power struggle for silence.

“We found Chaff’s tracker,” He whispers after a moment of strained silence. There’s no way his eyes will meet mine as his hands clench on his knee. I do my best to suffocate the panic that curls inside of me.

“Where?” I can’t hide the shakes in my voice.

“It’s in his brain,” Haymitch looks at me then, his brow furrowed as though looking for something that he can’t find.

The panic doesn’t ebb. My brain? Has a tracker in it? The memory unfurls before I can stop it, pushing forward so that I can even feel the pain of the device being shoved up my nose. I’d nearly forgotten the intrusion, all of it blurring together as one long suffering torture. Hell, I thought I’d even imagined it after all of the videos that I’d seen of similar tortures.

“How?”

The stare I get in response sends a chill down my spine. Instantly, I regret asking. The man before me shakes his head and kicks his heel into the ground, avoiding my gaze.

“How, Haymitch?” I ask again, desperation creeping in.

“An autopsy was performed,” He croaks. In that moment I realize that the break in his voice is him gulping for air, quietly gasping in the sorrow that claims him.

Chaff, the old Victor of District 11, Haymitch’s friend, has died.

I don’t want to ask. Not really. Not ever. But I need to know how the Victor Volunteer died. I need to know my own fate. What happens to me with this chip in my brain and this control that I don’t have any of?

“I’m sorry,” I whisper quietly, trying to think of how to phrase my questions without being insensitive. The man is hurting and all I can think of is myself. Carefully, I slip from the bed and approach him, kneeling down beside his chair reluctantly.

“I know what you’re thinking, kid,” He grumbles, surprising me as he looks up from his hands. “He did it himself – not a real surprise, but the guy had to try _real_ hard. Apparently talked the nurse into dosing him with too much morphling and then he hung himself off the side of the bed.”

I picture it instantly, my artful brain painting the picture in my mind’s eye of the man lying on the floor with his head in a noose, slowly suffocating with his own body weight, too drugged to maneuver himself free.

It made me sick to my stomach.

“Stupid man shouldn’t have gone back in, but Seeder talked him into it. Got him to volunteer. Stupid,” Haymitch grunts and I watch as he rubs his hand across his face, smearing his snot and tears into his unkempt beard.  My hand on his knee, quietly comforting, seems to smack him out of his moment. “Don’t you dare do anything so fucking stupid,” He urges, trying to grab me by my collar before I react instinctively and push him backwards.

I don’t know if it’s me and a flashback of my mother’s violent tendencies towards me, or the new ‘training’ that I’ve received since. Either way, Haymitch merely watches me, his steady gaze intensely burning into my skin.

“Still have some fight,” He mumbles, getting to his feet. I watch him go, stopping to quietly squeeze Katniss’ exposed foot before he disappears out the door and leaves me to sit on the floor with my head in my hands.

 


	29. Chapter 29

“We shouldn’t share a unit, Haymitch – you and I both know how risky that is. Look what happened with Chaff!” I hiss, keeping my voice low as we talk in the hallways outside the medical room Katniss and I have been sharing since we were rescued from the Arena.

The morning had started off alright; we’d both woken at the nurse’s prompt at the sharp time of seven forty-five AM. There hadn’t been any complaints as we’d stomached our carefully measured mush breakfast, nor had there been any issue with the regimen of pills they had concocted for us. Even Katniss had been passive about what they were continuing to shoot into her veins though there had been some mention of pregnancy protection and raising her iron.

Perhaps we’d taken it a little easy after our adventure the day prior. All I know is that I woke up on the good side of content and it hadn’t gone away until my skin began to itch and my body began to twitch in all the wrong ways. The tension of my body revolting was only compacted further by the Quarter’s Master who had announced himself in our room not half an hour after my condition started.

In all honesty, he had caught us off guard though the process probably shouldn’t have. We hadn’t really thought about what would happen to us after we were released from the hospital ward, which was admittedly stupid. So when this man showed up with a set of key cards and Haymitch on his heels looking antsy, I’d tried to shove down the panic that was building in my throat.

“Mr Mellark, Ms Everdeen – based on the information received prior to arrival, the District has assigned you to a unified unit. These spaces are often reserved for couples who have already completed the formal processes for unification, but it was felt that this technicality could be waived in light of the current situation. Please report to unit R345 once you have been discharged for your formal relocation residence.”

He’d been so prompt and formal I hadn’t had a moment to break in and ask a question. In fact, my jaw was still nearly on the floor when he stalked his way out of the room and disappeared down the hallway to the left. I’d met Haymitch’s eyes then, hoping to convey silently the fear that was coursing through my veins.

Sharing a room in the hospital where we had nearly twenty-four hour coverage would be far different than sharing a unit on our own. Hell, what if I flipped a switch and went crazy in the middle of the night? I could kill her. I could hurt her.

I couldn’t stand it.

As soon as the Quarter’s Master had departed, I’d asked Katniss for a moment with Haymitch and dragged the man from the room. He’d sheepishly followed, not saying anything until we were clear of the room.

“You know Peeta, maybe this isn’t something you should try to fight. You’ve been fine since you got here. We’re going to start getting you tested and we’ll figure it out, but there’s been no threat to date apart from your paranoia. So just calm down, alright?” Haymitch spoke seriously, for the first time in my memory not stumbling drunk and providing shitty advice. I nearly gawked at him.

“Tell me you seriously think this is a good idea,” I plead, my arm instinctively gripping his shoulder. I should tell him what’s really happening – I know I should – but I just can’t bear the idea of anyone looking at me like I’m _something_ not _someone_.

“Kid – if we separate you, you’ll just find your way back anyways. What’s the point?”

“I don’t want to hurt her!” I shout and I know after it’s out that the whole nurse’s station and even Katniss have heard me. My skin flushes as the door behind me creaks, opening just as a small hand finds the skin of my lower back through my standard District sweats.

“Peeta, it’s going to be fine,” Haymitch says tightly, his eyes drifting to the body behind me. I feel my shoulders slump as her presence engulfs me, instantly soothing my soul even though it is exactly what I’ve been trying to fight.

Everyone must think I’m crazy. They should just lock me in the loony bin right now.

 _Or you could do what Chaff did_.

The voice in my head, so startlingly familiar sends a chill up my back to where Katniss’ fingers have just vacated. I can’t tell if the voice was my own internal monologue or if it was Portia again, jabbing me one like she’s done every so often since they shoved this thing up my nose.

My feet shuffle slightly as my Mentor drifts off down the hall, effectively abandoning me in my effort to keep his beloved – my beloved – Mockingjay alive.

Why am I the only one trying to keep her alive?

 _Probably because you’re the only one who knows what you can do_.

I want to die.

 

 

 

We’re discharged sometime just after dinner, having effectively been cleared of any injuries incurred in the Arena (at least the ones they can detect, anyways). Our escort to our compartment arrives as soon as the papers are signed and neither Katniss nor I can understand a word that she says as she blathers on about the finer inner-workings of District 13 and just how _lovely_ it is to have us both around. She even mentions how lucky we are to have our own unit.

Katniss’ only reaction is to clam up like she’s been doing all afternoon.

She wasn’t tense before my outburst, at least not that I remember. I feel like an ass for making her uncomfortable.

“And then, at the green hallway, you turn left – does that make sense?” The woman stops, turning towards us and waving her hand as though she’s directing us into seats at an assembly. Out of the corner of my eye I see Katniss scowl before heading down the hallway ahead of us, reaching our marked compartment and swiping her card.

The panel doesn’t turn from red to green as expected. She tries again. It still doesn’t work.

“Oh, this silly thing!” The woman mumbles and steps in, removing the card from Katniss’ grasp and effectively pushing her out of the way with her hip. I nearly bark out a gasp of laughter at the look on Katniss’ face when the panel turns a bright green.

“Thank you,” I mumble, stepping forward into the fluorescent lit room. The stark grey of the walls and the poorly lit space leave much to be desired – it’s quite possibly the least inviting space I’ve ever been in.

“Welcome home,” Katniss whispers, joining me from the doorway after seemingly dispatching our escort. Dropping her bag by the dresser, she closes the door with a quiet click and watches me for a moment, her eyes scanning every inch of my being. I try not to finish under her scrutiny.

“What?” I ask after a moment, nervously starting to shift my feet (foot).

“Nothing, I guess. I think it’s...” She reaches her arm up and looks at the fading numbers on her wrist from the schedule that was applied this afternoon. Neither of us appreciate the ink inlaid into our skin. “I think it’s bedtime.”

I stare. Because it’s all I can do.

Alone, again. And this time if something happens there won’t be any doctors to rush to her aid. There won’t be anyone around to deal with me. I’d be better off sharing a unit with _Mags_. I sigh.

“I’ll take the floor then,” I mutter, observing the single bed as I place my bag on the dresser before starting to put my meager supply of clothes away in the drawers.

“Don’t be ridiculous. How many times have we shared a bed? Geez, how many times have you seen me naked? We’re past all that trifle part,” Katniss scoffs and dumps her own bag into a drawer before slamming it. My fingers grip tightly to the handle of my own drawer before I meet her gaze.

“You don’t understand, Katniss,” I say under my breath, attempting to hide the frustration that’s very thinly veiled.

“Only because you won’t tell me,” She snaps back. In the corner of my eye I catch her flick her shirt to the floor just before I see her pants join them as the bed’s rusty spring’s creak under her weight. I bite my lip, determined to stay silent. “Why can’t you just talk to me? You never had trouble with that before...” She continues and I hear the sadness tingeing her voice. We both know what she means by ‘before’.

“It’s not the same... I don’t,” My words sputter as I try to explain it. After a while of fidgeting with my clothes and changing my shirt, I turn and catch her sitting half-bare on our bed, watching me with her arms crossed tightly over her chest. “I need to go for a walk.”

I split – I’m out of that room, beating down my urge to jump in bed with her, faster than I think I’ve moved since before the first Games. I take off down the hallways without missing a beat, taking right turns whenever there’s a choice. Getting lost becomes a second nature and soon I’m back near the hospital ward and facing down a bedraggled Haymitch.

“Shouldn’t you be off soiling your space by now?” He barks. I stop to take in the shaggy hair and the unkempt beard, noting that he doesn’t look like he’s slept since news about Chaff.

“I needed a walk. Do you need to walk?” Not sure where the invite comes from, I know it’s too late to take it back before he’s squinting his eyes at me in contemplation.

“Sure kid, where are we going?” Taking me by the arm, he leads me out of the ward and I’m tempted to ask where _he_ wants to go since he’s the one dragging me by the arm.

We walk for twenty minutes or so before he starts to talk.

“Mags is doing well. She’s requested isolation for now while she gets her testing, but Finnick and Johanna have been keeping her company,” Haymitch starts and instantly I know what he’s trying to do. He’s talking about options. He’s talking about the choices I have to make. I’m listening. “She figured it’d be good to get looked after – not to mention they eat better in there. You know, she told us what she had to watch in those cells?”

I nod absently. I won’t be rehashing any of that with anyone anytime soon. I can’t.

“Well, she got us thinking. She knows what’s going on with her. Chaff knew. So you must know, don’t you kid?” Pulling us up short, he looks me in the eyes with his steel grey irises. I want to shrink under his gaze but I don’t, instead feeling my body tense and prepare to bolt.

“It’s not,” I start, my tongue fumbling on the words in my mouth. “I just can’t.” I fumble again, my mouth struggling to form the words that are racing through my head.

 _Disastrous plan, boyo_.

The voice in my head whispers. I have to shut my eyes tight to focus on my breathing.

“Peeta – you gotta tell us. Is there something we need to seriously consider here?” He’s asking with his hand on the back of my neck, trying to get me to focus through the jumble of words in my brain.

 _No_.

“No.”

Fuck.

 

 

 

It was stupid of me to think that I’d be okay in another unit. Hell, that I’d even sleep on the floor.

When I walk back into that room, after not having a single problem with my swipe card, I’m met first by the smell of her mixed with magnolia. It fills the room and reminds me of home and my bed and the warm nights we used to lay together before the Quell Reaping. Then I see her curled into a ball, tucked against the cold cement wall and looking smaller than I’ve ever seen her.

My heart lurches as my breath stops.

I could never leave her alone. Not in this strange world that we’ve been thrust into. Not ever.

Without trying to wake her, I shuffle over to the bedside and lower myself down. The springs moan under my weight but she doesn’t stir from her sleep as I wrap myself tight against her.

I’ll never go anywhere without her.

“I wish you’d just talk to me,” Her whisper in the dark surprises me and I try not to tense up. Instead I stay silent, tucking my chin along her neck and listening to her quiet breathing. “Peeta,” She shifts, making to turn towards me. My arms around her tighten, urging her to stay where she is. To stay peaceful for as long as she can. She fights me every inch of the way, her arms lashing out at me until her nose is nearly pressed to mine and our legs are entwined. She’s put pants on while I was gone.

“I’m afraid of myself,” I murmur, hoping to appease her from digging too deeply tonight. I close my eyes as her fingers find my forehead, running down along the line of my jaw.

“You’re safe here, with me,” She pauses and I open my eyes to see her staring at me. “We protect each other, right?”

I nod because I can’t say if that’s real or not anymore for me. I don’t know who I am with this other voice popping around in my head.

“If anything happens – I can handle myself,” She continues, her thumb stroking my cheek. I let my eyes close at her touch, not bothering to refute anything she has to offer. I can’t mention that I’m tired – I don’t want this moment to pass. “I just know that it hurts more, Peeta, when you’re not here – try to remember that?”

I sigh because it’s all I can do. After a drawn out silence filled with only the sound of our breathing, I feel her start to relax again in my arms. Needing her closer, I pull her to me and wrap a leg around her waist, nearly enveloping her. She only burrows closer.

It’s how we fall asleep. And it’s how we wake up.

Though there’s no sun here, the lights turn on at full blast and seem to have a similar effect to the sun’s rays. I have to tuck my head into her hair, trying desperately to block out the invasive glow as my body struggles with coming back to life.

 _Get up_.

My body jerks away and slides to the edge of the bed without my command. I’m standing at attention (in more ways than one) when I feel her hand on the back of my thigh and a light laugh escape from behind me.

“Good morning to you _too_ ,” Her voice sings, still a little thick with sleep. Running my hand through my hair I try to adjust my pants but it’s no use. Especially when she grabs the metal of my fake knee and pulls it towards the bed. “Come back here and I’ll help.”

I nearly fall over. There she is, her mussed hair spread out across the pillows as her bare torso peaks from the sheets, with a smile so bright it nearly blinds me. Her fingers find their way into my waistband before I can even say a word as her palm runs the length of me. I hiss quietly, grabbing onto the wall overhead as she starts to pull at me.

The feel of it, the feel of her hand slowly working me, has me teetering on the edge as my hips jut into her grip of their own volition.

“Katniss,” I grunt, my knuckles going white against the cement wall. Her quiet laughter rings from below.

“Come back down here,” Oh god I want to, but my body won’t bend. My knees won’t give. I’m forced to stand over her as I start to shake from the pleasure. All I can do is grunt in reply. “Peeta,” She calls, and I feel her hand pausing. I bite my lip to stop the curse that nearly escapes from me. When I look down, she’s staring at me, her face trying to hide her confusion. “Come lay down,” She tries again, her hands slipping to guide my waist.

My body won’t have any of it. I had to _get up_.

“What’s wrong?” Katniss asks, moving to a sitting position and looking up at me. I’m desperate to finish but she’s completely stopped – more focused on what’s _really_ happening to me than what she was doing to me. “Peeta?” Her worried voice has me wincing both at the ache in my groin and the fear I’m instilling by not being able to answer her.

“I can’t – I need, Katniss I’m sorry, but – fuck,” I gasp and push away from the wall, forcing my hand to replace hers and turning away guiltily as I try to work myself to a quick finish. I feel like a dirtbag. Like something that doesn’t deserve her. I’m nearly there when her small frame presses against my back and her fingers slip in to join mine. I finish at her touch and step away from her comfort instantly. “I’m sorry,” I shout, resting my head in the cement-lined corner of the room.

She doesn’t try to comfort me again for what seems like a very long time.

The knock at the door is what startles us from our tableau of silence. Neither of us move but it’s the conjoined sound of us both telling whoever is on the other side to fuck off that seems to break me out of whatever moment I’ve been having. When the knock comes again, I stalk to the door as Katniss grabs my discarded shirt, pulling it on as I swing open the door.

“Sorry Mr Mellark,” It’s the woman who escorted us the day before. I nearly cringe. “But I’ve been assigned to assist you two with keeping on schedule. District 13 relies on all of its citizens to meet their scheduled activities in order to be productive in its daily functions.”

I nearly shut the door in her face, abandoning all pretenses that the pre-Games Peeta would have thrived on. Nearly, at least.

“We need a few more minutes,” I grunt instead and close the door with a quiet click. When I turn around, Katniss is standing near the bed, her arms wrapped around her chest protectively.

“What was that?” She asks quietly, avoiding my gaze.

“Our escort, apparently we have more to learn today,” I reply hastily and strip of my soiled clothes. Katniss clears her throat.

“That’s not what I mean.” I don’t want to face her. I can’t bear it. I need to ignore it, at least for now.

“We’ll talk about it later,” I say instead, tossing her a shirt and pair of pants that I pulled from her drawer. When she turns to dress, I try not to watch her scars as they disappear under a layer of cotton cloth.

This time, when the knock rings out, Katniss swings open the door and sneers.

“We’re coming already,” She bites and I watch from behind as the woman recoils slightly.

“Yes, well... We start the day actually in your unit?” The woman asks hesitantly, looking over Katniss’ shoulder at me for assistance. I don’t need to nod before she’s pushing her way in and heading towards a hole in the wall. “First things first, you get your daily duties in here – I expect you remember the schedules from yesterday?”

The day seems to drag on endlessly as the woman gives us our scheduled ‘orientation’. By lunch, we’ve learned the emergency protocols, where the gyms and classrooms are located, where military members report and most importantly where the cafeteria is located. She’s also informed us her name is Candor, though I think I’m the only one who sees the humour in it.

By lunch time, we’re left to our own wits as Candor disappears into the stark grey hallways after leaving us at the cafeteria. Moving through the motions, we collect our rationed lunch and take a seat at an empty table, the tension from earlier in the morning quickly filling into the empty hole that the woman has left us. Katniss won’t look in my eyes and I can barely look up from the table. I still feel disgusting for my behaviour this morning, despite not even being sure of what I was doing to cause it to go so haywire.

“What’s Central?” Katniss asks after a while, her voice low as the cafeteria starts to fill with other scheduled citizens.

“I don’t know – why?”

“Because we’re supposed to be there in about ten minutes, according to this,” She responds, holding out her wrist and pulling mine down to match with hers. I look at her then, watching her as her grey eyes scan our matching schedules. She meets my gaze after a moment and quickly looks away, dropping our arms and pulling hers under the table.

“I guess we should go then,” I grumble and take her tray, tossing out the remnants before she has a chance to fight me on it.

We walk in silence through the hallways on the path that I almost remember from what Candor told us. It’s not until I feel Katniss’ fingers brush against mine that I start to relax from the anxiety that the day has caused. Gripping fully, I put Katniss’ hand in mine and walk onward towards our destination.

When we arrive, we’re most noticeably the last to get there. All eyes turn to us and Haymitch tries to hide his laughter as we shuffle in and take a seat near the back. Every Tribute is here from the Arena, including a subdued Brutus who somehow managed to get out of the hospital for the time being. At the front of the room, ahead of the vast whiteboard that lines the wall, is a compact woman with the straightest hair I’ve ever seen.

“Now that we’re all here,” She starts, stacking a pile of papers and leering at Katniss and I. “We’ll get started on the plan. For those who don’t know me, I’m Alma Coin, President of District 13. We’ve got you all here today to discuss plans to revert Volunteer Victors.”

I sit up instinctively, leaning my hands on the table as Haymitch stares ahead, scowling. I feel Katniss’ hand on my thigh, clenching tightly to me as though I’ll bolt. I want to.

“What do you mean?” Johanna asks from near the front, her gaze whipping between Finnick and Mags.

“They are a threat to security at this point. We’ve been working with a spy in the Capitol, goes by the name of Borealis, who contributed to the Volunteer program. He believes he can successfully extract the trackers that have been inserted and reverse any programming that has been applied thus far.”

My skin crawls. Clearly the rebels have been collecting data on this program since before we arrived, likely preparing themselves for a worst-case-scenario – like when we’d be embedded with them. The idea that I’ve been kept in the dark enrages me and I can’t stop myself from shooting from my seat and leaning over the table.

 _Sit down_.

The voice commands and I’m helpless to it, my legs cracking under the order and forcing me back down. With a thump, I land, still gripping fiercely to the table’s edge. All eyes are on me, burning into my skin, as I huff out a breath.

“Sorry,” I grunt, looking to Mags who has her hands bound together with a zip tie. She gives me a weary look before I have to look away. I end up on Brutus who’s drooling slightly onto his lapel.

“As I was saying, the Volunteer program has a plethora of unknown programming tactics. Borealis has only been incorporated into the tracking portion as of right now, but he assures us that by the time you arrive in the Capitol he will have the details on the missing-“

Coin doesn’t get to finish her sentence as the room breaks out into an uproar. I’m the only one rooted to my seat (less Brutus who seems to be unconscious) as everyone else lurches to their feet and begins to shout. It only carries on for a moment before an older guard, standing near the top of the table, steps forward and shouts for everyone to sit the hell down. Reluctantly, they follow his order and return to their chairs. Katniss pulls hers closer to mine, as close as she can get, and grips my hand in hers.

“Thank you, Boggs,” Coin resumes, stepping aside and letting the whiteboard light up with a display of what looks to be the Capitol. Coin looks at us all, daring us to call out before she speaks again. “This plan is non-negotiable. Volunteers will be delivered to our contact within the city using the underground sewer system. Armed escorts will accompany them to and from. The details will be discussed further with a selected few. This meeting was merely to keep you informed of the arrangements. Those of you otherwise not notified, are dismissed.”

I can’t move from my seat and I don’t think it’s the order. Instead I’m too shocked.

I’m going back to the Capitol. I’m going back.

“Peeta,” Finnick’s voice rings out next to mine and I notice his hand before me, offering assistance. I take it reluctantly, letting the man help me up as my muscles refuse to cooperate. Everybody ignores it, though doing a very bad job of it.

We, Johanna, Mags, Finnick, Katniss and I, make our way out of Central and head down to an off-the-path classroom that Johanna has located in her wanderings of the District. Nobody asks how she got the free pass. Nobody really wants to know.

All we can think about is that the five of us make up the Victors who weren’t asked to stick around and didn’t need to be wheeled somewhere. We make up the few who made it out alive for some reason and now two of us are going back. Alone.

In the room, we sit, and the silence engulfs us.

There’s nothing to say. There’s nothing that can be done.

I’m going back to the Capitol – the worst place a Victor can be. 


	30. Chapter 30

“What happened to you this morning?” Katniss asks, shutting the door behind her as we return to our unit. Our after-briefing cool-off hadn’t resolved any tensions the group had been stewing in and we’d reluctantly separated our own ways. Finnick and Johanna had stuck around longer, after Mags had disappeared and even longer after Katniss and I had made excuses to leave.

I figured it was best to just let them have their moment than to try to decode their weird behaviour any further. In all honesty, the pair confused me more than anything. They were like siblings, but with secrets. And I’d barely had a chance to scratch the surface.

Sitting heavily on the edge of the bed, I leaned forward and lifted my pant, prepared to remove my false leg for the night. It was habit, to run my fingers over the clasps and free my thigh of the constant pressure. But on this night, as exhaustion from the day’s anxiety finally caught up with me, I looked down only to remember that the leg no longer was optional.

When I look up, Katniss is watching me, staring me down from her place near the dresser. I don’t look away when I lift my hand to my cheek and press at the wetness forming. She’s before me in an instant, cupping my jaw with her hands and resting her forehead against mine. We match our tears as I try to contain the sobs that build inside of me. Without warning, my arms are wrapping around her and pulling her close as her legs tuck around me and she crawls into my lap.

“I can’t go back,” I mumble into her neck, breathing in her scent as my fingers dig into her hips. She hushes me immediately, stifling my words with her fingers on my lips.

“I’ll find a way – I’m coming with you. They can’t take you from me, not again.”

She’s so certain. Like she could control the way the world spins on its axis. My Katniss.

When I’m finally able to once again inhale without a hitch, I lessen my grip only partially and shift us back against the wall. Katniss never lets her grip slip, determined to stay in my lap. I don’t mind.

“Tell me about this morning.” She states, her fingers drifting through my disheveled hair. I know that there’s no way that I can ignore this now – I’ve put it off too long already. I need to tell her. She needs to know. Inwardly I cringe, wanting to tuck her into my side and never let her go. I know that I’ll have to though – I’ll have to let her free when she realizes what I am.

She’ll hate me. I’m a Capitol mutt.

Slowly, I try to draw back from her grip and hold her at arm’s length. Looking into her red rimmed eyes, I want to chicken out. I want to lie. I want to tell her that everything is alright because at least the lie will make this worry in her eyes disappear for just a little while.

“I don’t know exactly,” I start, because it’s all I can think to say when I’m faced with this. Her small finger brushes just under my eye and I stare, not wanting to blink in case she disappears. “I don’t know what it is.”

“What do you think it is? Start there.” She offers the branch – giving me a way to explain it.

“Sometimes, I can’t... Control what I do.” I state carefully, watching as every word washes over her. I don’t look away. Thankfully, neither does she.

“Like what?” She prompts after a moment. Her hands have found mine in our lap, our fingers linking together and giving me strength.

“On the beach – when you tried to hit me. I didn’t realize I was doing that until I did. And then with Enobaria, I didn’t control myself when I killed her,” I watch her eyes for anything, for a flash of distrust, or a signal of fear. Nothing. I let myself breathe the breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

“How do you know? Is it just movements? Can you fight it?” I shake my head slightly, closing my eyes in shame.

“It’s Portia,” I whisper. If I could, I’d recoil with the thought. Portia – my friend. The nail in my coffin now. I feel Katniss shift ever so slightly on my legs, her knees coming up against my sides as though in a squat.

“What do you mean?” Her voice is soft, comforting almost. She knows I much I loved that woman.

“She’s a voice, inside my head. She was there during the ‘training’ they gave us – or at least it looked like she was?” Uncertainty clouds my mind and I shake my head slowly. “She’s in here, giving commands,” I say tightly, looking up as my finger presses solidly into my temple.

I’m met with a stare. The panic in me rises irrationally. I’m growing desperate to make her understand.

“She tells me to punch, I punch. She tells me to get up, I get up – like this morning, don’t you see?” I can hear the frantic pitch to my voice and I can feel it thrumming through my veins. Moving my hands out of her grip, I grasp the sheets tightly between my fingers and shut my eyes, trying to steady my heart. “This morning – I couldn’t come back to bed. She told me to get up so my body obeyed. I couldn’t lay back down even if I wanted to.”

I’m nearly broken again. Admitting defeat as the woman I love stares back at me with a solemn poker face. I want to escape.

Send me back to the Capitol. I don’t care anymore. I don’t.

Oh god I do.

“Katniss?” I whisper after a moment of silence. She still hasn’t reacted and it’s scaring the shit out of me. I expected something, anything, from her. But all I get is her stare.

And then, well, she laughs. A deep, hearty laugh that I haven’t heard since forever and it tumbles through me like a coal dust cloud on a dry summer day. The tension in me seems to crack and waver as she gasps for air, choking on her snorting hoots while her body vibrates on my lap. My hands grasp at her hips, steadying her as she collapses against me. After a minute, I can’t help but join in as it all becomes infectious. The fear of the voice and what it means disappears from me for now, tucking itself away into a dark corner that I don’t want to revisit.

The sound of laughter, the insanity in it, breeds a breakdown in my soul. I feel like I’m being set free. As though it’s not all so bad if she’s here and alive and with me.

We sit together like that, gasping for air as our chests heave together, for what seems like an eternity. One I want to relive over and over again and again. But like most things, it comes to an end this time with a knock at the door.

We stop laughing, our moment cut short as the knock comes again. I don’t look away from Katniss’ grey eyes when I shout in reply.

“What?” I bark. If it’s Candor again, I may hope Portia asks me to strangle her.

“Can I come in?” It’s Prim. Katniss doesn’t move.

“Sure, Little Duck,” She shouts, still not looking away. Her sister somehow gets the door open without issue and jumps at the sight of us entangled together on our bed. Flicking my gaze towards her, I see the red blush creep across her cheeks.

“Well, this is rude Katniss,” She chastises, her arms coming to rest over her chest as she scowls. If not for the blush on her cheeks or the twitch of her lips into a smile, I’d almost believe her. It doesn’t seem to matter though to Katniss whether or not she’s bluffing as she scoots off of me and sits on the edge of the bed.

“Come sit with us,” she asks, tapping the edge of the small mattress. We both shift downward toward the wall, giving more space for the girl to clamber up with us.

I watch from the far end of the bed as the two sisters embrace, seemingly holding each other together for the moment. I miss my brothers. I miss my father. I miss home.

“I heard Boggs tell Mum about the mission,” Prim says, finally pulling away and looking directly at me. I frown, unsure of how this situation came about. Prim smiles sadly. “I think they’re friendly, okay? Anyways, we were having dinner and I wasn’t supposed to hear because they had me sitting with Vick and Rory, but I did. It’s true – isn’t it? You’re going back?” She doesn’t look at Katniss when she asks.

“Yes, it’s true,” I croak. Prim’s smile disappears and suddenly she’s in my arms, holding me tightly.

“You can’t go back!” She states, as though her words are the final law. Slowly, my arms settle to rest around the girl as she clutches closer. I look at Katniss over her shoulder and frown. “It’s not safe.”

“I know – but I need to go. I’m sick and there’s someone there who can make me better.”

I know I don’t need to dumb it down – Prim understands – but somehow it’s just easier to say it that way. To believe it that way.

Reluctantly, Prim removes herself from me and settles back onto her spot on the mattress, her gaze flipping between Katniss and I.

“I don’t want him to go either,” Katniss whispers after a moment, looking at the wall between her sister and myself. I can see the tears pooling in her eyes. I offer her my hand and she takes it gently.

“Are you going to go with him?” Prim asks, a line of desperation in her voice at the very idea of her sister going back into the lion’s mouth.

“No,” I shake my head. I see Katniss scowl in my direction. “You’re not coming, Katniss. Let’s not lie to ourselves. They’ll tie you down before they let you come with us.”

And they will. She’s not getting out of here unless it’s in a body bag. Christ.

“Well, maybe they’ll send me? I work in the hospital now. I can help if you get sick on the trip.”

I can see the way Katniss nearly falls apart in that instant. Her light, her reason for living, so eager to put herself in danger to help. Everything that’s happened has been for Prim.

“No, you won’t,” I reaffirm, smiling sadly. “You’ll stay here and help Katniss. And keep Haymitch sober.” I add, winking.

“It doesn’t feel right,” Prim mutters as she clenches her fists in her lap. None of us have any answer to that – it doesn’t feel right to us either.

“What did you do today Prim?” I ask after a moment, effectively switching topics so that we don’t have to linger on the mission and the fears it brings any longer.

 

 

 

Prim stays with us for a few hours, mentioning more than once that Mrs Everdeen sent her out to explore the District for a few hours. The look Katniss and I share, along with the recently introduced notion that Boggs and Katniss’ mother are friendly, makes me want to laugh out loud. But we don’t for the sake of Prim, who seems to be just barely holding in a tightly wound displeasure about the whole situation.

When she finally leaves, I’m the first to get up and change into my thin pajama pants while Katniss watches from the bed. The lingering tension from our earlier conversation seems to fill the air around us as she watches me closely, her eyes on every move I make.

“Why does she make you do things?” She asks after I pull out her pajamas and toss them to her. I keep my distance for the time being, leaning back against the dresser as she stands to get changed.

I have to think about the question for a moment. It’s not something I’ve really thought about, always just too afraid of what it’s going to make me do next to try to think it over. But the message behind it is exactly what I need to think about. Why? What’s the point?

“I thought in the Games it was someone controlling me, to be honest,” I mumble, scanning her bare skin that’s littered with scars from the Games and her surgery. My fingers itch to touch her. “But it doesn’t make sense now – who’s watching me here?” I shake my head and step towards her and our bed.

“Do you _want_ to do what she tells you?” She asks when we’re laying down face to face. I grin tightly and shrug as best I can against the mattress.

“Maybe. I mean, I know it makes me do what I _should_ do. I didn’t want to get up this morning but she made me.” I watch silently as the wheels spin in Katniss’ head, turning over the information in her brain as she scowls slightly. I let my hand wander her jaw and glide into her hair along her temple, revelling in the feeling of her. “Please don’t leave me.”

Her eyes snap to mine as I confess my greatest fear, one that has prickled within me since I discovered I was broken. On the one hand, it would be safer for her to leave. She’d be free. But on the other, it would kill me inside. I wouldn’t want to live without her. I couldn’t. The thought of her choosing to leave me makes my whole body cringe and shrivel as though a desert floor in the summer.

“Peeta.” Her hand grabs mine tightly and she presses a kiss to my knuckles. “Never. What do I have to do to convince you that I love you?” She asks, exasperated though more tender than I would have expected.

“Tell me,” I blurt without thinking. It’s the only answer I have. I want her to tell me. All the time. Every day. I know she can’t, but that’s what I want, as selfish as it may seem.

Surprisingly, she doesn’t hesitate.

Smoothly, her hands guide me onto my back and she’s up, straddling my hips as her mouth meets mine. Her lips are hot and wet as she presses them against mine.

“I love you,” she whispers, breaking for a breath and then shifting her hips against mine in a slow roll. My hands find her thighs and squeeze, pushing up and against her, savouring the friction. There’s too much material between us.

“Again.”

She pulls back, quirking an eyebrow at my request.

“I love you, Peeta Mellark.” She leans in for another kiss, this time deeper as our tongues collide.

Our bodies move together without effort, rubbing and brushing and drawing small moans out of us both. When I’m breathless, marked and hard, I feel her body slip down my legs as she grabs at my waistband. My head jerks up just as I feel her lips at my tip, slowly drawing me into her mouth. It feels amazing, glorious. I’m on the edge before I know it, slipping my hand into her hair and drawing her lips off me with a small pop.

“You’re beautiful,” I state, pulling her against me again. I feel the heat from between her legs engulf my exposed skin through her pajamas and I groan, thrusting up towards her slightly. She laughs a small tinkling sound that I try to catalogue in my memory forever.  

“I love you.” It’s said against my ear as she bites the lobe sending a jolt right through me.

“Take off your pants,” My words are harsh, raspy, as my fingers grab her shirt and pull it upwards. She’s naked on top of me within the minute, her heat pressing against me as she rubs in slow, careful circles. The teasing is killing me. It’s too much.

“Is that enough? Have I convinced you?” She groans, sliding up my length and tempting me. My hips thrust of their own accord and slide me home as my breath bursts from my lungs.

I want to make it quick. I want to feel her around me. But she slows it down, pulls my hands until they’re resting at my sides and away from where they grip her hips. Then she moves, sliding against me and gripping me tight from the inside out.

“Katniss.” I groan, realizing she’s drawing it out.

“Do you believe me?” I nod. Words are escaping me. She starts to move faster at my acknowledgment, her fingers coming to wrap around my base as we shift together. She’s almost there, I can feel it building. My hands come up from the sheet and wrap again around her waist, pushing myself deeper. “I love you,” she cries out again, coming apart around me.

I pull her down and against me as I let go inside of her, drawn in by the thrumming of her blood and the pulse of her body around me.

“I love you so fucking much, you don’t even know,” I gasp into her neck, trying to catch my breath as I realize this is the first time the voice hasn’t echoed in my head while I’m this close to Katniss. I breathe a sigh of relief and clutch her body closer until we’re both nearly asleep from exhaustion.

“I’m coming with you.”

It’s a quiet statement, so low that I barely hear it. I don’t respond – I can’t – there’s nothing that I can say that will convince her she just _can’t_ come with us.

 

 

 

They don’t rip me from my bed like they did in the Capitol; I can thank them for that at least. No, instead they knock politely, rousing me from my barely existent sleep while Katniss continues to snore softly against the wall.

“Peeta?” The voice in the backlit hallway is familiar as I open the door wider. I’m surprised, shocked even, to see Gale Hawthorne standing on the other side in a pressed military uniform, bullet-proof vest and all. When I look up at his eyes, he’s practically straining upwards to see over my shoulder, desperate to get a glimpse of Katniss I assume.

All I can do, to be fair, is open the door wider and let the man step in.

At least I remember throwing my t-shirt over her before she fell asleep.

We stand awkwardly in the room while Gale tries to hide his obvious displeasure at the current state of things. I don’t blame him, not one little bit, for the blow this must be having on his system. It’s the first time he’s seen Katniss since before the Games. It feels like ages to me. It must be worse for him, especially to find us sharing a bed.

“Are you ready to go?” He asks after a while, his fingers clutched around his military issued cap.

I hadn’t _really_ realized that we’d be leaving so soon. It makes sense, sure, but I thought I’d at least have another day. Stealing a sad glance back towards Katniss I nod absently, turning towards the dresser and beginning to pull out clothes. Gale sighs audibly, putting a hand on my arm and shaking his head.

“We’ve got your stuff packed already,” He mumbles.

“Oh,” I return the clothes and shut the drawer, my hands rubbing against my jaw as I try to wipe the sleep out of my eyes.

I really don’t want to go.

“A small part of me thinks it’s better if I don’t say goodbye,” I whisper out loud, voicing my thoughts but not particularly towards Gale.

“She’d never forgive you if you didn’t,” He replies in turn anyways. I nod, taking a step forward and stopping. I don’t want to go. I don’t think I’ll come back. Maybe this is all so last minute so that nobody even realizes we’re gone and can do nothing about it.

I step forward again until I’m at the bedside, kneeling down so that my hand lingers just over her shoulder. I wish Gale would go. I wish he’d let us say goodbye in private.

“Katniss?” I press my palm against her shoulder lightly and she stirs, groaning a little as she turns towards me and squints at the light from the hallway.

“Peeta? What’s wrong?” Her voice turns frantic without any prompting, her arms shoving her body upwards as she stifles a scream. I think she’s seen Gale. I grab her shoulders, steadying her as she shifts on the bed.

“Hey, shh. Don’t worry. It’s okay,” I murmur and I see it the moment she recognizes Gale in the backdrop of the room. The blood drains from her face and she pushes off the bed, leaping towards him and wrapping him in an unexpected hug. Now it’s my turn to stand awkwardly as they embrace while I try to push down the jealousy in my gut.

“Hey Catnip,” I hear his voice ghost around the room.

“What are you doing here? What time is it?” She asks, stepping back but still holding onto her best friend. I shift on my feet, uncertain of what I’m supposed to do now.

“We’ve uh... We have to...” He swipes a hand across his face and its then that I notice how utterly _tired_ he looks. I take pity, because I know in the end, Katniss is mine while I’m alive.

“It’s time to go,” I state carefully, evenly. Katniss spins towards me, rapidly looking between Gale and myself as we stand on opposite sides of the small unit. She looks accosted.

“ _What_?” She turns back to Gale, her hair whipping over her shoulder. “You!” The shout echoes down the hallway and Gale steps carefully to close the door. “The first time I see you and you’re _taking him_? No. No!” He takes it as her fist connects with his chest. He takes it as she pushes him back against the wall.

_Restrain her._

I’m stepping forward and pulling her back just before she lets loose her right hook into his jaw. We stumble back together until I’m on the floor, holding her arms at her waist as she struggles against me. My body restrains her, but my mind is screaming at me to let her go and be free.

“Katniss, please,” I beg as Gale stays silent near the door. I doubt he wanted this duty anymore than I want to go back. Her fighting starts to die down as she turns and instead wraps herself around me.

“I’m coming with you!” She cries into my ear.

“No, you’re not.” Gale. So formal. So withdrawn.

“Please, you promised you’d always be here. You promised!” Her fingers bite into my shoulders as Gale steps forward, leaning down to try to pry her loose. I’ve never seen Katniss so desperate, so panicked. I’m prone in my spot as her friend pulls her off me while she fights to get free.

“You need to stay with Prim,” Gale repeats, over and over as he pushes her back onto the mattress. I get up reluctantly, stepping out into the hallway as I try to hold myself together. I can’t do it. I can’t say goodbye. I could not come back from this. I could die. They could kill me. I could kill myself – just like Chaff.

I stand with my head against the wall as Katniss sobs behind me with Gale keeping her in the room. I struggle with myself, debating whether to just leave or to try to say something, anything, as our last goodbye.

“They’ll kill him!” She screeches from behind the door and the sound echoes down the hallway. A door partway down opens and a small boy peeks his head out towards us.

I can’t stand it.

“Katniss – stop. I love you. I promised forever, okay? I promised. I’ll come back – okay?” I say, edging Gale aside and taking her hands in mine. I kiss her knuckles and her palms and then her cheeks and her lips. The salty taste of her tears lingers on my mouth as she breathes heavily against me.

We’re given a minute before Gale puts a heavy hand on my shoulder, letting me know it’s really time to go.

“Forever, promise,” I whisper and press my lips to hers. When I stand to go, she won’t let go of my fingers until I have to pull them free.

The look she gives me as I close the door, the one of complete and utter sadness, drowns me from the inside out.

 


	31. Chapter 31

The kindness shown to me during my goodbye seemed to slip away as soon as we rounded into the hovercraft bay. I was surprised it hadn't come sooner, to be completely honest.

"I've got to put this on now, Peeta," Gale said, his eyes apologizing for him.

"Don't worry about it - I figured it would be like this." I replied wearily, holding out my wrists for him to snug a zip tie on. He even tried to give me some room to move my wrists but I shook my head at him. "They'll want it tight." He nodded and tugged on the thick plastic until it bit skin.

The silence spread out between us as Gale hunched his shoulders and looked at the floor, avoiding eye contact. I knew in that moment again, that Gale was a good man. I'd seen flickers before, but he could see this for what it was.

There was a good chance I wasn't coming back from the Capitol this time. I mean, if all’s fair, the third time's the charm, isn't it?

"You'll take care of her for me, right?" I whisper, my head held high and waiting for him to meet my gaze. I needed to see it, to see the way his eyes would promise for me.

The sight of his steel grey still surprised me.

"She'll never have it," he muttered, watching me. I shook my head.

"No, she will. Just don't let her go away like her mom - you know that. You know it." I needed him to say it. To promise me this.

"Peeta, I saw what happened back there! I saw it with my own eyes the way the spark went out when you left. I can't bring that back, no matter how hard I try."

"Don't stop trying then!" I shouted, commanding. I couldn't bear it. He needed to make sure she was alright after... After everything.

The seconds seem to count by achingly slow after my outburst as we each withdraw to our corners, waiting for the other to give. I was startled then when the other men joined us in the room, crowding us and pulling along a tethered Mags who had Finnick tagging along beside her, murmuring in a language I'd never heard before. He sounded almost more desperate than I had not moments before. 

I heard my name being called near the base of the ship where they were rolling Brutus on. Slowly, I turned to head in the direction I needed to go, only to be pulled up short by Gale's solid hand on my arm.

"I'll make sure she doesn't slip away Peeta. I'll promise you that. But don't hold me to a promise I can't keep - I'm not the one who makes her happy."

With that, he stalked away, heading towards a cage full of weapons in the corner of the room.

It wasn't long before we were all on board after each Victor Volunteer was shot up with some viscous fluid. Somewhere in the middle of flying towards my fate, I melted away into unconsciousness.

 

 

 

The surprising feeling of falling was the first thing to pull me out of my unconscious haze as I sat bolt upright and glanced around the room. Surrounding me were about ten men dressed in black, their masks hanging along their necks and laughing together. Beside me was Mags, still laying with her arms overhead and clipped into the secure bar that held us to our beds. My gaze was just settling on Brutus and his accumulating drool when one of the men clicked a button and the side window began to rise.

Off in the distance, far along the horizon, the sun was just beginning to rise. With each passing moment, the shades hovered in blues, reds, oranges and pinks. I longed for my paint and canvas to capture the view. Losing track of time, I stared at the rising light until it burned far overhead of the hovercraft, drowning us again in the cool interior lights.

“It was beautiful, wasn’t it?” I hear Mags rasp from behind me. Her bindings clink against the bar quietly.

“It was. Wish I could see it again,” I murmur in response and turn to her, watching her with careful eyes.

“You will see it again. You and that girl of yours.” She states and then looks off over my shoulder. Following her gaze, we both stare at Gale who watches us out of the corner of his eyes, skirting glances towards us while he sits with the rest of the soldiers.

 

 

 

It’s another couple hours before my ears pop with the subtle descent over the edge of the city. Touching down, the men pile off in droves leaving only a select few to collect us from our locked seats. When I’m pulled to my feet, all I want is to reach out my arms and stretch my exhausted shoulders, but my bindings are still tight and I doubt they’ll be releasing them anytime soon.

I’m lead off the craft and down a dirt pathway that leads past a row of abandoned shacks. I try to keep my gaze cast downwards, to avoid making eye contact with any of the soldiers, but I can’t help it. I pull in every image that I see, nearly tricking myself into thinking I’d one day be able to paint this row. Each house stands only a single storey tall, coated in ivy where the walls still stand and the exterior is paint fading after heavy exposure.  It’s gorgeous in a sad, run down type of way.

At the end of the row of houses, I’m forced through a doorway of a barren looking shack. Its floor is dirt and its walls are peeling layers of thick cream paint.

“What is this place?” I grunt, twisting my palms together in an effort to renew some blood flow to my fingers. My body and mind are exhausted, barely able to hang on.

“The Rows. It’s where the Rebellion is gathering before we take the Capitol.” A soldier in the corner, not one of the District 13 unit members, coughs while he speaks. The man leading me jerks my arm forward and all I can do is nod a reply, sure that the District 13 people want to keep me from any available knowledge that I could share with the enemy.

The only sound that seems to fill the house as we move towards the back is the eerie hum of wind through the cracks in the walls. Our feet barely make a sound as we kick the dirt with each step. When we reach the back, I’m turned around in what looks to be an ancient kitchen, all of its appliances removed and leaving gaping holes in the countertops.

“Down here,” The man says, yanking open a door in the corner and motioning into the dark space below. I advance warily, slowly, as if taking my last steps.

I know, logically at least, that District 13 has sent me here to get help. But I can’t stop the feeling that this is where they’re just going to leave me to rot. It’d be no hair off their heads. They still have Katniss and the other symbols of the Rebellion. They still have signs of hope.

My feet touch another layer of dirt as I reach the bottom of the stairs that lay within the doorway. Around me, my eyes struggle to adjust to the darkness that’s all encompassing. I breathe and it’s murky, dank air, filling my lungs with a cool chill. I turn, half expecting the man to follow me down and switch on a light, but when I look up to the shadow standing over me, I catch the idea just as the door closes with a click.

They’ve even got working locks here on the Row.

 

 

 

Time drags. I’m left to my own devices, somehow able to find a nail in the old wood staircase that allows me to cut my wrists free. When the bindings are gone, I’m nearly on the verge of crying. Everything that’s happened, every moment, every single _second_ since leaving Katniss and the only home I know, seems to come at me all at once. I strangle out a sob, my lungs filling with the cold bite of the air and I sink to my knees (knee), gripping the bone and metal until my fingers hurt.

If I were never picked for the Games. If I were in the bakery. If I’d died.

All of the ‘ifs’ seem to strangle my throat as I try to pull in something more than the wet, cold air. It’s no use, my body shakes and curls, pathetically heaving sobs that must echo from above. There’s a sadness here that I can’t escape, one only brought forth from the suffocating darkness and the coldness that permeates my skin.

I miss the warmth of Katniss. The feel of her skin. The glow of her smile.

If there’s any sense of time left in me, I know that I’ve exhausted myself throughout the night. The silence from the room and from above seems to close in on me and make my sounds of suffering even that much more intense. Still, no one comes and there’s no way I can blame them.

 

 

 

“Mellark, time to move.” A voice grunts from overhead, gruff and forceful. I pull myself to my feet gingerly, trying as best as possible to brush the dirt from where I lay. But it’s no use. When I reach the top of the stairs, my arms held out and waiting for a new binding, I realize that I’m nearly brown with dirt. I’ve stopped caring somewhere along the way.

We leave the house through the back door and I find us among the other Victor Volunteers. Mags looks just as tired as I, but with the added kick of being older. Brutus looks indifferent from yesterday and I wonder why they haven’t just put him out of his misery yet.

Beyond us, I see a line of trees and the sun just cresting the edge of it. The sunrise was missed, but another day was lived to be seen.

“Let’s get a move on; we’ve got a lot of ground to cover today to get you to the preacher on time.” Someone up ahead jokes and a few of the newly accumulated men laugh. I don’t see the humour.

Walking happens for half the day, winding through the trees in an endless line of monotony. At lunch, we break for rations and a canteen of water. When we continue on, I watch out of the corner of my eye as Mags falters and leans into a tree to stay standing. She looks worse than I feel. Somewhere behind us, Brutus is being wheeled along the rough terrain, oblivious to reality.

Throughout the trip, Gale manages to keep his distance, staking out the front of the group and looking for unforeseen traps in the forest. Only twice does he have to re-route our path, heading us eastward and then eventually back west. When we finally come upon another small village I cringe inwardly at the filth that lines the ‘streets’ (or at least what can be called streets). Everywhere, bodies and bandages and gore and dirt coat the ground. Barely a patch of grass remains, coated in some level of decay. I feel my face pale as I take in the sight, the terror reaching up my throat.

“Does it always look like this?” Mags gasps, stepping forward without her escort. The men around us seem to nod sadly before stepping forward with her.

“It’s an emergency relief area for Capitol citizens and Rebellion members,” Gale states, coming to stand beside my prone form. It’s the first words he’s bothered to utter to me all day. I stay silent. “The tunnel has an entrance here. Borealis has been evacuating friendlies as much as possible. A lot of them come here wounded, barely alive. They try, but the odds aren’t always good.”

He sounds defeated. I wonder how much Gale has seen since he joined the District 13 military. I don’t ask.

“We’re heading into the tunnels now. I know it’s getting late-“ Our lead, an aging man, shouts to the group as groans fill the air. “I _know_. But the sooner we’re in, the sooner we’re out. We’ve got about an hour left. Refresh and gear up. We leave in twenty.”

I turn to Gale, my mouth opening to ask him more. To ask him what is about to happen. But he’s already gone, weaving through the group and getting as far away from me as possible. In his absence, Mags stumbles over to my side and lowers herself to the ground. I can hear her bones creaking with every inch.

“Are you going to be alright?” I ask quietly, slipping down beside her and remembering the way Finnick had watched her so very carefully.

“We’re going to be fine,” She states, though her voice lacks the evenness that comes with surety.

“Do you think this Borealis guy knows what he’s doing?” I’m almost afraid to ask but then I remember that I’ve got nothing left to lose. Mags turns over my words, considering them.

“No. Not really. But it’s all we’ve got, isn’t it?”

We’re offered water and an energy bar before we’re moved back to our escort and led on through the village. I keep my eyes pasted to the ground, avoiding all sights and trying to breathe through my mouth to avoid the rot. It barely helps, the taste catching on my tongue and making me want to wretch.

The final building on the left is littered with more red than I can take. Even the ground is tinged with the shade, an area clearly used as a final resting place for too many. The group pushes onward into a staircase that almost seems to shrink as we go downwards. I flash back to the tour of the mines that we went on back in school and I shiver.

What I would do to be back home, working in the mines, if only I had Katniss to come home to every day for the rest of my life.

The tunnel seems to go on forever, occasionally pitching upwards and to the side without any warning. Up ahead, as we walk, I start to hear a clicking noise as metal grates against stone.

“Breaching the line!” Gale calls from the front, still taking the lead. I hear the men around me shift and Velcro tear open as they all press something into the wall. When the soldier behind me hits his first stone, the exhale is audible. “Level bound, one hundred metres,” Gale shouts again and the pace picks up as everyone rushes forward.

Stone gives way to tile and soon we’re pushing through a doorway and into a wider tunnel system that hums with the sound of running water. I thank god for the darkness of that previous tunnel as I look back at the door and watch them bring Brutus through. His sleeves are lined with the tinge of blood that must cake the walls. I want to be sick. My legs (leg) hurts. I’m _tired_.

“The hospital is right above us. Brutus is due now. Borealis will meet you on the third floor near the D elevators.” Someone masked gives the order and Brutus is carried off and down the tunnel to my right. I shift my feet, dying to get some decent rest into me. “Everyone else, we wait. If all works with Brutus we’ll be sending up Mags next, and then Peeta. For now, settle in.”

I feel my body being forced to the ground and pushed against the wall, a meal pack thrust into my hands.

“Eat up,” Gale grunts, sinking down beside me and ripping open his own food. I flick the edges of my pack with my fingers, trying to think of a way to open it with the bindings still attached.

That’s when it happens again. The exact moment when I’m all about to give up.

 _Get up. You don’t need it. Get up and walk north_.

The voice creaks in my head, almost a little rusty as though tired. I remember this Portia from long ago. She’d been hung over at the time and we’d laughed at the state of it all. There was no laughter now as my legs pushed me upwards without a second thought and started moving me down the opposite direction that Brutus had been taken.

“Mellark, get back here _now_!” Someone from behind shouts.

_No. Keep walking._

I keep moving; helpless against the way my body is propelling me forward. My mouth, desperate to deny all control, feels like it’s been wired shut. I’m almost around the bend in the tile when hands grip onto my arms and pull me downwards.

_Double kick. Right elbow. Chokehold._

The commands come and my body reacts as though I was once again killing Enobaria. My mind is appalled but my body doesn’t stop moving as one soldier is downed and another is held in the crook of my arm.

 _Say it: “Let me go or we’ll all regret it_.”

“Let me go or we’ll all regret it!” I shout. My body trembles as the body within my grasp falls unconscious. Gale stares at me from his place against the wall, his olive skin pale in the dim light of the sewer. Nobody moves, not even Mags who’s sitting with her legs crossed. She isn’t effected, only me.

My arm releases when no one approaches and the man falls to the ground. I know in my head that I haven’t injured anyone, but the guilt slinks through my blood like a disease.

“I’m... _sorry_.” My own words crumble weakly when they hit the air. I catch a glimpse of a confused Gale before my body is being told to run, run fast, until the tunnel ends.

 

 

 

Exhausted, too tired to move ever again, I pull myself to the surface and sprawl my body across the Capitol street. It’s barren, the only sign of people being the trash that lines the gutters. Overhead I watch the sky as it changes closer to dusk, the sun sinking lower in the sky.

My body seems to give out at the same moment that my mind realizes that it’s only me now. Just me. Alone with the voice inside my tormented Victor Volunteer head. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would just like to apologize and say that I am incredibly sorry for how long this has taken to be updated. I started this story when I was in a really good place, but things have changed which has made the content and the emotions of the characters a little difficult for me to write. I know that seems like a cop-out, but it's not meant to be. I'll finish this story, I promise. I'm just going to try to get back into the swing of it at the same time that I deal with stupid real life.


	32. Chapter 32

I’m being dragged. That’s all I know. That’s all I can tell from the way my head is bumping along the hard pavement below me. I’d move, kick my legs free of their hands, but I feel paralyzed. My limbs refuse to respond, my arms helplessly still bound and dragging above my head.

I’d shout but my mouth is thick with a strange fabric that has been stuffed into it. When I open my eyes, blinking rapidly to try to clear the fuzz, all I can see overhead is the swelteringly bright sun and the shadow of the figure pulling me.

They’re humming; a garbled sound that shakes with every laboured breath.

I don’t want to be here anymore. I wish it and close my eyes, squeezing them tightly together as though I can will myself back unconscious. But it doesn’t happen and instead I feel every bump, every graze, every tiny rock that burrows under the increasingly ragged skin on my back. It’s the pain that finally gets me, luring me into a dreamless unconsciousness.

 

 

When I wake up again, I’m in a room so much different than anything I’ve ever seen. The walls are luxuriously red, glinting with gold fixtures and black trim. The floor is a beautiful solid oak, cool and soft to the touch. At least, that’s how it feels to me as my body rolls from its side and curls up tightly. My muscles ache and my joints seize with every inch, sounds escaping my dry lips without any warning.

I don’t care. All I know is that I’m hurt, alone, and somewhere in the Capitol waiting to be killed.

I’ll never get to see Katniss again.

The thought sneaks up on me and makes everything else disappear. Turning over, I rest on my back and realize my hands are no longer bound. I’m able to sprawl and listen as the bones along my spine crack, the cool wood calming my screaming skin. I notice that somewhere below me something is slick. I also know that there’s a good possibility that it’s really a coating of my blood that’s making it that way.

I don’t care anymore.

I’m not sure how long I lay there before the lights dim and then return full force, signalling something inaudibly. The room, vacant not a moment ago, seems to fill with a host of people dressed in full red garb, long blood red tunics with matching linen pants. I recognize the uniform from my Games.

They’re Avox. They have to be.

My body doesn’t move as my eyes scan the faces looking for anyone familiar. No one sticks out at me and I cringe. Have I been brought here to become an Avox? They’d take away my most powerful tool, my words. It’s a fate worse than death.

I lay there frozen until another flash of the light comes and the people begin to leave, dispersing themselves through the various doors that are spread around the room. I’m almost left on my own when out of the corner of my eye I see a man falter, his eyes ghosting over to where I lie on the floor. Just before he steps his way outside of the room, I watch silently as he lifts a hand to his lips and he holds up one finger, motioning for me to be quiet. And then the door closes with a click and I’m left to myself in the violently coloured room.

 

 

When I can’t lay there anymore, when my back is screaming from the pain that filters through the skin, I push myself upwards and stagger against the wall. My body leans heavily, my hands searching for the handles to the doorways that I pass. The first three are locked, not even giving an inch. The fourth door is not.

Giving way, I stumble through the frame and stop dead in my tracks, staring down upon the room that I was in for the Victor Volunteer program. I’ve somehow found a door, one that I don’t remember the room ever having.

My stomach lurches as I look around, pulling in the sight that echoes my nightmares. To my right is a bed, its hanging straps thick and white. To my left is a plate of glass that is only discernible by the miniscule handprint that glints against the light.

 _Look out the window_.

The familiar voice floods my senses and before I realize I’m walking past the bed and to a black plate of glass, my palms pressing against it as the air from my nostrils fill it with steam. My lungs are struggling for air, tired from the walk, from the sewers, from being brought here.

I don’t know how long I stare before the room beyond the glass is backlit and a body is tossed through a doorway into the corner. An Avox, silent and steady, stands in the doorframe as the man who ‘delivered’ the body disappears. The Avox watches, his eyes and face not giving away a thing, as the body stands against the wall and leans.

Even from a distance you can see the tired way that they move, inching towards a couch barely visible in the dark. It’s then that I see it in the tentative step and the fractured posture. It’s Portia in that room, caged and broken. Confusion fills me, as does bile and anger. Of my own accord, I knock, my knuckles rapping against the glass and calling for her. Inside, Portia shifts and I see in the light that she’s wearing red as well.

I step back, shock filtering through me as I process what I think I’ve seen.

Portia. An Avox. I’d wished her dead. This was worse than death.

Her eyes cast over in my direction and I see her falter against the wall as though surprised to see me. The familiar gaze watches me through the glass, never leaving me as she staggers her way towards the window. Pressing her fingers to the pane, my chest clenches and my soul sobs at the sight of her.

Portia, my beautiful, substitute mother. The person who cared for me when no others did. The voice in my head that tells me to do so many horrible things. She’s here. Locked in this room. Her face is bruised and her head has been shaved. Her eyes are hollow and empty and when she presses her whole hand to the glass I see the scars of burn marks on her hands. Without thinking about it, my hand is pressing to the opposite side of the glass and I’m watching her fall apart before me.

Together we stand there, staring at each other while we struggle to adapt to this world that we’re forced to live in.

“How could you?” I whisper through the glass, doubting my words even get to her. She shakes her head sadly and I’m unsure if she’s denying me truth or whether she just can’t hear me. It doesn’t matter. I need to tell her. I need her to know how betrayed I feel. “You’ve destroyed me. You’ve taken everything. You gave me to _them_!” I shout, my hand still pressed to the glass but my fingers curling into a fist.

On the other side, Portia has her head hung in shame. She doesn’t respond and I _need_ to know if it’s because she _won’t_ or _can’t_.

“Portia, open your mouth.” I order, a vacant harshness to my voice that I didn’t realize I had in me. Her eyes snap up to mine, and fear is prominent in her gaze. She shakes her head and her hand falls. My fist pounds on the glass and she steps backwards, still shaking her head. “ _Please_.” I beg, my hand flattening from its clenched fist.

She does and I want to recoil at the sight of her tongue-less mouth. I want to pull her close and give her every comfort she gave me when I lost my leg.

“Oh _Portia_ ,” I murmur and rest my forehead against the glass. In that moment I forgive her for everything. Despite her Capitol birth, her role in my Games, her betrayal – despite it _all_ – I can’t _not_ forgive her. She’s always been just as much a pawn as me in these Games.  

When I look through again she’s staring at me absently. I can see the control apparent in the way she holds herself, desperate to keep it together. I watch her without blinking; staring at her while she stares at me. When she suddenly looks just above my shoulder I tense and begin to turn, ever so slightly.

 _Don’t turn around_.

The voice is back and my eyes flicker up to her, wide and surprised.

Whatever the Capitol has done, they haven’t completely removed her voice. They’ve just given it to me.

 _Don’t look it in the eye. Close your eyes and just go with it_.

I do as she says, watching her until my eyelids close and blind me. I feel the hand on my shoulder, jerking me backwards and towards the way in which I came. I follow it without thought, shoving down the terror that fills me.

I can’t help but think that if Portia has lasted this long she must know how to get through this place.

 

 

I’m taken to a room that requires climbing multiple sets of stairs. My bare feet grow cold with the contact of the floor and I’d really like to be dead or free by now. I’m even starting to despise my inner monologue for its endless suffering.

But still I follow, never opening my eyes to see the person leading me through this maze. When we reach our final destination I slump to the floor and kneel, my back curled upwards like a cat as I breathe in the foul stench of roses.

Opening my eyes, I dare to look around, pulling in the sight of gardens and the feel of humidity that clings to my skin. The light that filters in through the ceiling coats me in a thick heat that makes the sweat bead on my skin.

“It’s good to see you, Mr Mellark.” The cold voice echoes from afar, reaching out to me and forcing my spine straight as I sit up and meet the cold eyes of President Coriolanus Snow.

In this moment, I don’t have any fear left. Nor do I have anything but a blinding rage. My blood boils and my fingers clench into my palms as I stare at him.

“I can’t say the same,” I grit my teeth and force myself to breathe. The harsh sound of laughter fills the room as he approaches me carefully, his shoes clicking on the floor.

“Well, my dear boy, you’re quite the mess. Why don’t we get you cleaned up and then we’ll confer on your duties here?”

The choice isn’t really optional as hands find my shoulders and pull me backwards again with a lurch. Dread fills my gut and the voice tells me to close my eyes again, and I do. Somehow Portia is watching over me, telling me what to do. I don’t know if it’s good or bad.

I’m taken to another room down the hall and shoved in, the door clicking shut with a heavy lock behind me. In front of me is a large bed, wider than I am long and covered in what looks to be soft bedding. To my left is the bathroom, tell-tale by its patterned tiles. On my right is a bank of windows that span the size of the wall. Through them I can see the Capitol sprawling, the sun shining though surrounded by clouds. The streets look empty and from my vantage point I can only see mere shadows scurrying from one spot to the next.

It hits me then that I’m in the President’s Mansion and that I’m not yet dead. Whatever duties he has for me here, they won’t be good. I know it. Deep inside of myself I know that he’s brought me here to use me against the rebels.

Turning back to the room, my eyes search for something – anything - that would end this suffering. I land upon a desk that’s bound to be filled with sharp objects. I’m hurtled towards the wood object and pulling out the drawers without a thought, my hands rummaging through and looking for anything that will break skin. When I find nothing but pencils and paper I toss the drawer to the side with a flourish and a roar escapes from my mouth.

I’m spinning in my room, desperate, trying to find a way out, when the voice returns, soothing me.

 _It’ll be quick. Grin and bear it. Shower_.

I feel the smile curl on my lips as my body moves mindlessly towards the bathroom where I’m turning on the dials and buttons. The water crashes down on my bare and ragged skin and I shake from the knowledge of where I am and what I’m doing here. I long to be home, but that will never happen again. I want to damn Coin for sending me back here, but I know it’s hopeless.

The water cutting off brings me back to the present from my thoughts. My thinning body is nearly blown over as the jets of warm air fly over my skin, drying me quickly. When I move back into my room, a set of clothing is laid out on my bed, the fabric mocking me as it mimics what I wore in the Arena. I pull it on, the rage coursing through me reminding me of everything that has happened.  

Before me the door opens as I poke my head through the shirt’s hole. I look at the man in his Avox red, his eyes swollen shut. I wonder how he manages without a voice and without his sight. He motions me forward and I follow him down the hall, glad that I’m no longer being dragged and that my back will finally get a chance to heal.

We walk through the hallways with only the sound of our steps echoing around us. The house is vacant, just like the city streets, and I have to wonder how long the President intends to hold his ground. It can’t be long now; the rebels are amassing just outside his gates.

I’m led into another room with a long wooden table down the center. It’s set for two, laden with plates and cups and silverware that shines in the dim light from overhead. The Avox man pulls out a chair and motions me forward with a grace that surprises me. He disappears without a sound, leaving me to the empty room.

I let my eyes fall to the table before me and the knife that’s tucked next to my plate. My fingers move along its sharp edge, contemplating what it would do to the skin of my neck.

“Peeta!” The voice of Snow is jovial as he steps into the room and pulls out the seat across from me. I let my fingers pull away from the blade and look at the man head on, no longer afraid of this human that has taken so much already from me.

“Mr President,” I scowl, nodding slightly. Another Avox man interrupts us, bringing out bowls of soup and placing them before us before disappearing. I wonder briefly if it’s poisoned but lift the spoon to my lips anyways.

I’m ready to die.

“Ah, a healthy appetite!” He boasts and takes sips from his own bowl. I nearly cringe at the way his lips puff out and wrap around the spoon’s edge. When my soup is done, which is when Snow is bordering on halfway, I sit back in my chair and cross my arms over my chest.

“What do you want from me?”

He smiles, sickeningly sweet. “You’re a Volunteer, my dear boy. You have skills that I can only imagine possessing.” He pauses and finishes his soup in a single pour down his gullet. I’m shocked by his ill manners – Effie would have a fit. “I’d like you to speak with Caesar Flickerman about your training. The people are _dying_ for your voice.”

The way he says it, how it slips off his tongue, chills me. Out there I know citizens are dying in this war but this implies he’s doing more than just fighting a war.

“You brought me here to put me on TV? Are you stupid? That will only incite the rebels. They’ll burn this place to the ground,” I argue in return, leaning forward threateningly. Snow laughs again and pats his lips with his napkin. He sits back and turns his gaze from me as the Avox returns with rib of lamb on rice. The smell is amazing and I hope and pray that this is the poisoned item. It would be a good way to die.

Halfway through the plate, Snow starts again, focusing his eyes on his plate while he speaks. “You’re here because you owe me something, Peeta. You owe me your life. That’s what you promised when you volunteered. You promised me your life – do you understand?”

I push away my plate, my appetite ceased. My words are calm but my hands twitch in my lap. “I did not promise anything to you.”

“Ah, but look at where you are now, with all of these great fighting advantages. We’ve even given you a direction compass. You can never lose a fight now, should you choose. It’s made you the perfect fighter.” He pauses, scratching his bearded chin before looking at me. “We’ve given you everything. Fame, fortune, success. You owe us.”

“You force us to play these Games! I had no _choice_. I owe you _nothing_.” My words are seething but even I know that they’re pointless. Snow will get what he wants because I have no choice. That’s been the story all along.

Neither of us says a thing as we finish the main course and the baked apple dessert is brought out. I don’t touch it, though my stomach grumbles for it. In the end, the Avox that led me here returns and beckons for me to join him, heading once again to the doorway which will lead me down the hall.

“Peeta, you’re aware that this is non-optional.” He states and it’s not a question. I don’t say a word before I’m returned to my room and locked in.

 

 

The first broadcast lasts five minutes. Caesar doesn’t quite know what to do with me when I don’t answer a single question.

On the third day I’m led back to the basement where I now know that they’re keeping Portia. I’m granted access to the window and I see her curled on the floor, her body bruised in the shadows of light. Through the pane of glass I can hear her sobs and I want to curl up next to her.

When I return to the set the next week, the first time I’ve been out of my room since seeing Portia, I greet Caesar with a smile. He takes the lead in the broadcast and I remain silent again.

The window in my room is transformed into a live screen of Portia’s torture as they whip her after I return and I spend the next five days listening to her screams fill the air of my room.

I’m a shaking mess, my nerves shot, when I’m brought to the studio again. Today is different. Today Snow watches from the sidelines, smiling at me happily while Caesar has his nose padded with makeup.

“So, Peeta, how is the Capitol treating you now?” He asks happily, his voice a giddy tone that would seem real if I wasn’t looking into his troubled eyes. This man is tortured, just as everyone in the Games is.

_Say “Well Caesar, it’s been a slice being here” – Do it._

“Well Caesar, it’s been a slice being here,” I state, the lightness in my voice coming from the days when I used to have to explain what door I’d walked into that wasn’t actually my mother’s fist. Caesar beams at me, thankful that I’m finally giving him a break from the silent treatment.

“And what brings you here this time with such troubled borders? Have you joined the good fight?” I’m surprised that he doesn’t ask about my training. Maybe they’ve decided to sideline that since the silent treatment.

“I’d say it was more of a ‘calling’, if you will. Like a voice inside of my head,” I hint, and hope that if anyone friendly is watching that they’ll get this back to Katniss and she’ll know.

“Ah, I see! And how does our dear Girl on Fire feel about your joining us here?” He continues, watching just over my shoulder to where I know Snow is leering at me.

I freeze, Katniss’ name causing my stomach to turn.

 _Say: “I love her, and miss her, but she knows I’m here to do what’s right_.”

“I love her, and miss her, but she knows I’m here to do what’s right,” I repeat, closing my eyes tightly to blink away the image of her fallen features on the night that I left. I feel Caesar’s hand on my knee, patting it gently.

“We miss her too, Peeta, we miss her too. Now, let’s take a look at the fashion dos and don’ts of this week!” Caesar turns and I feel the cameras slip away from me before I’m being pulled backwards and off the stage.

 

 

I wake up to the sound of bombs falling. Their explosions shake the earth and rattle the lamps overhead.  Pulling myself up I glance out the dark window and see the city before me burning in the early morning. It’s on fire, the smoke rising and cresting the sky in stacks. My heart beats wildly in my chest as it processes the sight.

“Good morning,” Snow’s voice creaks from the desk in my room where he’s been sitting silently for who knows how long. I don’t bother to look at him, my eyes remaining glued to the burning sight outside. “Today is the day, it would seem,” He continues, getting to his feet and standing at the window’s edge. I shift from the bed and rest my feet (foot) on the floor. I’m tempted to run, but I know I’d never make it.

“How will you do it?” I ask instead of going for the door. Snow laughs bitterly and turns, his lips a bright red.

“Oh, dear boy, it’s already been done. They’ll kill you for this. They’ll kill you for taking our side. Worry not; I won’t have to lift a finger.”

In my mind, I know he’s right. But my heart tells me no, somewhere out there someone is choosing to let me live. I don’t know which side to take. I don’t know which side I want them to take.  

Watching, Snow moves towards the door, his hand raised to his mouth as a coughing fit arises. I see the blood catch in his fingers as he reaches for the handle.

 _Now_.

The voice commands and my body lurches. Now _what?_

“Snow?” He pauses at my voice, his hand gripping the metal. When he turns to me, his lips are shining with blood.

 _Kill him_.

My body is propelled forward without another thought, urging me onward until my hands are around his neck. I watch as his eyes laugh at me, his blood stained teeth barred mid-cackle, as my fingers crush his windpipe.

When his body slumps to the floor, I feel my own body relax as though for the first time I’m not holding everything from combusting. For the first time since my name was drawn from that bowl so long ago I feel like I actually have control of myself.

I look up from Snow’s dead eyes and watch the city burn in front of me. The buildings alight with the bombs emit a strange glow that joins seamlessly with the sunrise.

It’s beautiful. One last sunrise.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So close to the end, I can taste it.


	33. Chapter 33

My first instinct is to go home.

As I stand in my window and watch the city burn before me, all I want is to hold Katniss. To have her beside me. To be sharing a bed with her, no matter where, as long as she’s next to me.

But I have to shove that instinct down and hold it underwater like I’m drowning it. She won’t want me now, not after I’ve lost every ounce of myself that used to be good. This thing inside me has destroyed everything I’ve worked to get back to. It’s made me kill and maim without any control. I could never return to her and promise to keep her safe if I couldn’t even control my actions.

I’d never be able to be with her again.

It makes me numb, the thought of never going back. Though I know it’s all I want, I know it’s not the right choice. She’s better with Gale and thinking I’m dead. It’s better for everyone that way than to have this thing that I’ve become.

With the warm glow of the sun reaching into my room, I look once again over to where Snow’s lifeless body is laying by the door. His skin is pale and his white hair looks starker than ever in the morning light. I don’t regret killing him. I can’t – not after everything he’s done. But still I feel empty knowing it was my hands that wrapped around his neck until the light left his eyes.

Carefully, I make my way over to my dresser and pull forth the clothes that have been presented for me. I stuff them in a bag I find in the closet and put the bag over my shoulder. When I move towards the door I have to step carefully over the dead body only to realize that I’ll need to move him to get out of the room.

Grabbing onto his hands, I yank backwards and shift the body away from the door. I repeat it once, twice, three times before I stand up and heave my stomach bile onto the floor. It’s not only disgust that spurs me on, but a level of shame as well.

With one last look at the sun, I open the door and disappear into the familiar hallways.

 

 

I find Portia in her cell in the basement. She’s unconscious when I break through the window with a chair I brought from the dining room. I watch as the glass shatters and still she doesn’t move. Stepping forward, my throat closes when I see the blood drops pooling below her lips. For a second I’m sure that she’s dead as well. My eyes fill with tears and I have to step back for just a moment.

Pulling it together, I go to her and kneel down, my fingers resting on her neck for a pulse.

“Portia,” I whisper, my voice raspy with emotion as I look down at the woman I love to hate. I feel her heart beat, but just barely. In another moment I’ve got my arms under her shoulders and I’m pulling her up with me, her thin frame resting against mine as I move us out of the room.

When we’re clear of her cage I settle her on the bed in the white room and lay next to her, watching her intently for any movement that would save me from the idea that she’s dying.

Time seems to crawl by as I watch her breathing start to steady out. I watch as her eyes flicker behind her eyelids, noting the way her body tenses and relaxes every so often as though she’s having a bad dream.

While I watch, my mind returns to a time when Portia comforted me on the Tour when I couldn’t sleep. She’d read her book while I flopped helplessly on the couch in the lounge, avoiding my room like it was quarantined. Her breathing had almost lulled me to sleep that day and it had been so comforting to have someone watch over you while everyone else was out to get you.

A little while later, Portia finally stirs. Her eyes blink open and her unkempt eyebrows shoot high on her forehead as her body shifts backwards frantically. I stay frozen to my spot, determined to stay calm until she’s able to adjust. I’m not quite sure what I’m going to do with her, especially now that she can’t speak to me directly. I just know that I need to do something. 

Watching her, I stay frozen until she slips off the edge of the bed and disappears onto the floor with a thump. A small laugh escapes me and I can’t hold it in – I know I shouldn’t laugh but I can’t help it. I feel lighter now after the death of Snow, despite everything that I’ve done. When Portia’s head pops back up on the other side of the bed, I know it’s time.

“Portia,” I say slowly, keeping still as she watches me with tentative eyes. I can see it within her depths that she’s hesitant, likely because of my reaction to seeing her here before. “I’m not going to hurt you,” I continue. “I want to help you. Tell – show - me how to help you.”  

We stare at each other for a long moment, her evaluating me and me waiting her out. When finally she moves back onto the bed, she crosses her knees before her and places her hands in her lap. My eyes glance over her tight skin, the way her bones jut out from hunger, and the small trail of blood that has dried in the corner of her mouth. Slowly, I sit up to join her and smile sadly.

“I killed him,” I state carefully, unsure of which reaction I’ll get. I’m still unclear about her role in all of this, whether she did it against her will or not. To be honest, I’m not sure if right now she’ll try to kill me in my sleep or watch over me like she once did. But I have to have faith in what I know – I have to believe that somewhere she’s still the Portia I knew and loved. Her only response is a slow nod. “We can leave now, if that’s what you want.” I add quietly.

Her eyes seem to sparkle with my words, small tears forming as she clenches her hands together.

“We’ll leave then. Are you alright to walk?” She nods vigorously and we each move off the bed with a careful grace, our eyes still sneaking untrusting glances at each other. I give her a moment to gather anything she needs but when she turns back to me from looking in her cell, I can see that there’s absolutely nothing left for her there.

We make our way down the hallway as quietly as we can. Though I haven’t seen anyone, not even another Avox yet, since the sunrise I still don’t know who’s lurking in this house.

Without incident, we step out onto the street through a side door off the main level. Around us, buildings are still on fire and the smoke still rises, but the city is silent. No hovercraft flies through the air above us. No people are screaming. All that can be heard is the crackle of flames licking at all of the buildings surrounding the mansion.

“I didn’t think they’d actually destroy it,” I mutter, recognizing that I hadn’t truly grasped what the rebels were planning to do. In all honesty, I’d expected them to simply go in and tear down the social structure, not the physical structure. The amount of destruction overwhelms me as I look around and see the broken city skyline.

Portia is the first to step forward, reaching backwards for my hand as though to lead me forward. I follow, not knowing where we’re going but too much in shock to contemplate any other options.

We walk for what seems like hours. Our feet make turns down alley’s and through old buildings that still seem structurally sound. I follow my stylist blindly, giving her all of my trust because I have nothing else to depend on. When finally we pull up short in front of a small three storey building, I turn to her, the sweat and soot from the burning buildings along the way sticking to my face.

“Is this your home?” I ask tentatively, looking back at the somewhat plain building that stands before us. Portia nods slowly and steps forward.

The building itself is by no ways plain. In comparison to the rest of the Capitol buildings, it is basic, but to me, it is extravagant. Outside the red brick is lined with high columns of white. The doorway is still standing with a solid blue door. All of the windows on the first floor are blown in, as though someone has been looting the store that resides there. I look to Portia who is running her fingers along the barren windowpane, her face screwed up in what looks to be something akin to sadness. When she notices me looking, she makes a wide gesture of a dress and points to her chest.

“This is your store?” My voice is hollow as I join her to look in the window. All of the garments are slashed if not lying on the ground. The dust from the surrounding explosions has filtered in and coated everything from the smooth black counter top to the rolls of fabric in the back.

I stand there, staring into the vacant space, while Portia turns towards a lamp attached to the building. Curious, I watch as her fingers nimbly remove the front fixture and pad around next to the dark light bulb. A small smile forms on her lips when she brings her hand down, her fingers clutching to a key.

We’re in her apartment before I even have a chance to realize what’s going on. Before me the space is large, open and beautiful. Hanging from the walls are countless metal fixtures, all telling of simple design and recycled objects. Her kitchen is expansive with open faced cupboards and an astounding array of appliances. I’m impressed and surprised by her taste, knowing full well that she’s lived in the Capitol for so long and I’d expect at least some Capitol pomp here, but there is none.

Making my way to the kitchen, I flick the light switch and pray that the electricity is still on. When the light overhead flickers on, I grin at Portia. My next move is to the sink where I check for running water, a luxury that I know most of District 12 doesn’t even have. When the cool liquid runs between my fingers I breathe a sigh of relief. Here, even at war, the simply luxuries of convenience never cease.

We can do this. We can hide here. Until I figure something else out. Until the war ends. Until...

No. I’ll never be able to go home.

I move until I’m standing across from Portia, carefully guiding us into matching chairs that sit across from each other. My hands are on my knees while she picks at her thumb absently.

“What do we do now, Portia?”

 

 

Weeks pass. We generally stay locked up in her apartment, only ever so often venturing out into the city to find new resources. I go on searches for food, breaking into abandoned apartments and city shops in order to gather anything edible to get us by. Portia heads out every few days to find materials for new clothes, to find toiletries and other household supplies. We split the daily chores in relatively the same way; I cook, she cleans. It’s an interesting split but it works well for us.

I find very quickly on that Portia refuses to acknowledge her Avox standing as anything but an inconvenience. Every day she makes a point to create a new visual dialogue, one that doesn’t involve talking. Once a week she makes me promise to have a ‘no talking’ day and I comply, because it’s only fair. I see now how she was able to muster the strength to deal with my leg so easily. She is one of the strongest people I know.

In the evenings we spend our countless hours before sleep playing on an old chess board I found. Sometimes I read while Portia designs. Other times I just sit and watch as Portia enters more into her daily log. Whenever I ask to read it, she rips it from my hands and hides it in a new location.

I don’t push. Neither of us push.

At night we shamelessly share the same bed. There’s nothing funny about it, it’s simple sleeping. More often than not I wake up curled on the edge, almost on the floor with the distance between us. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to sleep comfortably with anyone but Katniss. Usually on the night where sleep refuses to come, Portia slips in and out of nightmares. Each one leaves her garbled scream piercing the air before she apologizes with her gestures and turns over to try again.

Some things just will never change. The war has scarred us all. I doubt anyone will sleep without nightmares ever again.

 

 

I’ve been tracking my time with Portia. It’s been two months since we escaped the mansion. Two months since I killed Snow. Two months where the city has remained almost abandoned. Almost three months since I last said goodbye to Katniss.

I woke up missing her today with an ache so great I could barely get out of bed.

I spent my morning wondering if the war was over. If they ever discovered Snow’s body and if the team that brought me here ever made it back to District 13. I wonder if Gale kept his promise.

By mid-afternoon Portia was pulling the sheets off the bed and pushing me with her feet to get up while she stood on the mattress. It was my day to venture out and she was really looking forward to some pickles, if I could find them.

Heading out into the street I walk three blocks west into a part of the city that I haven’t yet scoured. The first house, a half standing yellow brick building, hides away two bags of flour and a few cans of soup. Each house thereafter has very similar findings. In the sixth house I find what I’m looking for, a lone jar of unopened pickles that’s tucked away behind the can of steamed peaches. Putting it into my bag, I head for home to apologize for my behaviour this morning.

Climbing back through the fire exit (our typical route for going into the city to avoid detection), my gaze sweeps across the open apartment. Portia is nowhere to be found. I try to relax, putting my bag of goods on the floor near the window and calling out.

No response greets me.

I can feel my heart pumping in my ears as I walk around the room, searching for something I know I won’t find. When I come upon the bathroom door, I see that it’s half-propped open and I knock, trying in a last ditch attempt to grant her privacy. When no response comes to my knock I push open the door and look across the wide expanse of tile.

Before me, sprawled on the floor, is Portia, her lips red with blood and her body prone on the cool tile. I’m kneeling over her before I can even think, hoping and praying for the feeling of a pulse beneath my fingers as I roll her onto her side. Her breaths, while there, are slow and weak.

“Portia, please,” I beg, my heart in my throat as I brush her hair back from her face. Tears drip from my own eyes onto her cheek bones as she stirs, her mind slowly coming back to me while I try to suck in air to keep myself conscious. She groans and my hands run across her forehead and then to her hands, squeezing them tightly. “Let’s get you to the bed,” I whisper and pull her into my arms. Her body is limp in my grasp and the only sound escaping from her bloody lips are moans of pain.

Laying her on the bed, I dampen a face cloth and hold it against her forehead. The whimpers turn silent and her eyes open to stare at me.

“Welcome back,” I mutter, sitting up and giving her the cloth. She pushes it back against her head and smiles sadly.

We don’t talk about the blood on her lips. We don’t talk at all.

 

 

Three weeks later Portia stops eating. I don’t notice it at first. I guess I’m too consumed with trying to map out where other colonies of people are living in the city. But one dinner later I’m seeing her tuck her food into her napkin and toss it out while I’m not looking. I stare at her for a long while after that, trying to understand.

We don’t talk about it until she passes out for the first time from exhaustion and lack of food. She tells me with her hands that the food is making her sick. That it hurts to swallow. Every detail, with as much depth as she can give me granted our primitive communication methods, eats away at me.

“You’re really sick, aren’t you?” I ask her when she finishes. She nods sadly and then stands from where we sit around our chess game. The pieces are haphazard at best, unsure of their place. Just like we are.

I spend the next few days trying to convince her to eat while she lay in bed. I scour the area for the supplies to make a peach cobbler and then convince her that it’s worth the pain. She eats half of the pan before she rolls over and falls asleep.

The day after her lips are bloody again when she wakes.

It’s the same day that I take over her daily duties and venture out for the first time to try to find someone who can help.

 

 

Portia is disappearing before my eyes. The idea of it, the very thought, of her dying, is ripping me to pieces. With each day that she deteriorates further I try to hold at bay the tears that threaten to fall. I want to shout at her, to refuse her the opportunity to give up, but I’ve no such power.

It’s dusk when I crawl back through the window from my search. Again I’ve found no one, but that’s not for lack of trying. The last vestiges of Capitol citizens are every bit as useless as they were before the war. No matter how many groups I give myself up to, nobody can help me or even tell me where I can find a doctor. The best they can do is promise that the rebels will be here to help us any day now.

I know that that’s not going to happen. The rebels will rebuild everywhere _but_ the Capitol. This city will never shine again.

“Portia.” I call out, my eyes scanning the living area where our chess board remains in place. She’s two moves from putting me in the checkmate position. When I finally find her still lying in bed I sigh heavily and grab a can of soup from the cupboard. I prepare it for myself knowing that she’ll want none of it. I eat in silence by myself at the table, watching out the window as the sun fully sets.

When I’m finished, I head over to the bed and rest my hand on her shoulder, shaking her slightly as though to wake her up. When she still doesn’t move, my chest tightens as I try to shove down the panic. “Portia!” I yell, my fingers wrapping around her boney chin and turning her face towards me. Her lips are shiny red and her skin is pale. I find no pulse.

I find no signs of life.

“No no no no,” I whisper frantically, shoving myself back from the edge of the bed until I’m sitting against the window pane. I stare at her for what seems like hours, begging her silently to stir and pretend it was all a joke. But she never moves and the tears that I’ve been holding in for weeks, months, seem to fall without prompting.

When the sun rises behind me, a sight I’ve refused to acknowledge since killing Snow, I begin to tidy up the apartment. I pack my bag with the clothes that Portia has made for me and reset the chess board. Returning to the bed, I tuck her in and remove the notebook she’s been filling since our arrival here. Placing it in my bag, I press a kiss to her forehead and exit the apartment for the last time.

My feet carry me without thought towards a park that’s three blocks down from Portia’s apartment. I remember finding it my first week here when I was out looking for proteins. I walk towards the lonely swing set and sit upon it heavily, pulling out Portia’s notebook and opening it to the first page. Tears fall onto the lovely ink strokes as I begin to read.

The pages contain everything from her day-to-day feelings to the intricate plans on how my implant for the Victor Volunteer program works. It even focuses on the hidden tortures of Snow’s mansion, like the man who tore out your eyes if you looked at him. I read it all through once, quickly, and then refocus in on the more in depth parts.

Like how she was ‘invited’ to the program through force and how she adjusted the trigger to only be reactive when I needed assistance subconsciously so that the Capitol didn’t have full control for my Games. Though I only understand half of what she’s written, the part that I find most interesting is at the end where she tells me to look up a doctor by the name of Melas Aurelius who can help me. I tuck the knowledge away and keep reading.

Tucked into the pages I find a letter that was added in as though an afterthought. My fingers flick the edges as I look around me in the late morning sun. The park is empty, a stark contrast to what I imagined it to be before the war. I decide then and there that I need to find Aurelius.

Carefully, I place the loose paper into my pocket without reading it and stuff the book back into my bag, heading off to the abandoned hospital. I figure if there’s bound to be anyone who knows where to find certain people, it’ll have to be there.

 

 

The building itself is not as abandoned as I had been told when I first sought it out weeks ago. I’d been turned off the search in the first place by the idea that it was too far to walk to just be empty. But now that I’m here, standing in its hallways two days after the death of Portia, I don’t see an abandoned building. Instead, it’s full of people in all sorts of states. If Portia hadn’t told me to stay away, I would have brought her here the day I found out she was sick. But that was then.

The ill and wounded have flocked here, as have the fragile citizens of the Capitol. Together they seem to work together, everyone being given a job no matter what their status was before the war.

I stand in the hallway of the entrance watching the people until a small hand pulls on my arm. Looking down I notice a little girl with dark hair in two braids and I do everything in my power not to flash back to a memory of Katniss when she was so much younger.

“Sir, I’m looking for my mother,” She states carefully, her hand pulling gently.

“Let’s find someone to ask about that,” I reply and take her hand in mine, heading down the hallway while feeling like I’m in some weird limbo between the living and the dead. All around us as we walk are gurneys with people, some I’m not sure whether they’re alive or dead.

Reaching the desk, I look down at the man sitting behind the counter for a moment before turning back to look at the little girl. “What’s your mom’s name?”

“Sila Glass.” Her eyes look worried as she recalls the details.

I turn back to the man. “I’ve got a little girl here looking for a Sila Glass? And I’m looking for a Melas Aurelius?”

“Who are you?” The man spits, a mixture of fear and hesitation in his voice. My brow furrows and I look down at the little girl who’s watching the hallways.

“Does it matter? Is Mrs Glass here?” I tighten my hand inadvertently around the girl’s, suddenly unsure of how people are handling the war here in the Capitol. Suspicious activity must put them all on edge. “I’m just trying to get this girl to her mother,” I try again when he doesn’t reply. The man looks down at his paper and turns to a co-worker. 

“Can you take the kid to room 5B?” He asks. When the woman nods in response, coming around the desk to take the girl away, I watch until they disappear around the corner. When I look back, the man behind the counter has stood up and is holding the phone to his ear while he watches me with fear.

“I’m just looking for Dr Aurelius,” I state and step backwards, putting some space between us.

“Don’t move, sir,” The worker behind the desk states and speaks quietly into the phone. I take another step back, my skin prickling with a nervous energy. “Sir, I need you to stay where you are.”

I’m walking towards the exit before I know it, putting space between myself and the hospital with every step. It was a bad idea to come here. A _very_ bad idea. I should’ve listened to Portia. With every step I take I hear footsteps pick up their pace behind me.

“Sir!” A voice shouts behind me and I break out into a run heading down the Capitol streets that are littered with ash and garbage. I make it half a block before a hand lands on my shoulder and pulls me down until I’m lying on my back with a man kneeling on my chest. Two more sets of footsteps join the man, their breaths heaving.

“Got him sir!” The man kneeling on my chest states proudly.

“Well good, now get off him!” Another man shouts and my chest is relieved when the knee is removed. I cough, rolling onto my side and then onto my knees, struggling for breath. I feel a hand on my shoulder, gripping it lightly, and I shake it off. “Peeta Mellark, you’re long overdue.”

I freeze, my eyes focused on the ground.

“Come on, let’s get you fixed up.”

I’m pulled upwards until I’m standing looking at the bright young face of Melas Aurelius. “How do you know me?” I gasp, unsure whether he recalls me from the Games. I’d hope I’d be unrecognizable by now.

“I’m Borealis. You were supposed to meet me a long time ago.” He states as we head back towards the hospital. I try to process the information but find myself conflicted.

“You knew Portia?” I ask as we step through the doors. I watch as he tenses up, turning towards me and looking me in the eyes while his hand finds my shoulder.

“I’m the reason they cut out her tongue.”

 


	34. Chapter 34

I’m reluctant to follow Aurelius after his confession. Logically, I know that it means there’s likely a connection to Portia being a rebel but it still makes me uneasy. I don’t like that he gets to still live while she lay dead in her apartment after dying alone. But I follow anyways, _because_ she’s dead and I’ve really nowhere else to go.

“How long have you been in the Capitol, Peeta?” Aurelius asks me when we’re seated in his office somewhere up on the fourth floor. I shrug, looking around at the books lining the walls and the windows with their blinds tightly shut. “You know that the war is over? That President Snow is dead and the rebels are working with President Coin from District 13 now?”

I know that I’m staring. I can’t help it. I’m glad that the war is over. The problem is though that it leaves so many questions unanswered. Do I take this chance to start fresh? Do I go home? I don’t know.

“You can talk to me, you know. Portia gave me a full run down on your pre and post-op mentality. I’m certified to help you, if you want it.”

My eyes meet his across the room and I frown. What _exactly_ was he getting at?

“I mean, she was very concerned with your reaction to the program. If she had a choice, she’d have rigged the device to completely fail. But she didn’t. How does that make you feel?” Confused. This whole line of questioning is making me confused. I remain silent and watchful as he sits like a statue in the chair before me. “Peeta, I need to know how you’re doing before we can start the extraction process. I need to know how you’ll handle the change in mental function. Help me out here.”

“What do you _want_ from me?” I nearly shout in return, rage and frustration bubbling up to the surface as I look at this man who... Who... Dammit, did _something_.

“Anger. That’s a good emotion. It’s cleansing. What else?” His hands find the pen and paper in his lap and he looks down to jot a few notes.

“I feel like at any moment someone is going to come and kill me. Like I’ll just start hearing the voice inside my head that makes me kill people. It’s even worse now that I know Portia’s dead – I can’t stand to hear her voice now,” I groan, rubbing my face with my hands. That’s the worst of it, I think. Knowing that when the voice returns it’ll be the voice of someone who’s dead.

“Portia is dead?” He asks quietly. I see his fingers still on the pen and he looks up at me for a second too long.

“Two days ago.” I state, casting my eyes to the floor to avoid the stare.

“How?”

“I don’t know. She stopped eating, I guess. Said it hurt. I _tried_ to find a doctor but it just-“ Pausing, my voice catches in my throat and I try to cough away the tears that build.

“Complications from her aglossal status,” He whispers quietly. I don’t know what he means. The room is silent for a moment as he takes in the knowledge and I sit, unwilling to expand on it anymore. After a while, he’s looking at me again expectantly. “Peeta, what else?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why are you here in the Capitol? Reports sent back to District 13 when you didn’t arrive likely have you listed as deceased or missing. I’ve yet to make my report, so you’re still safe, but don’t you want to go home?”

“I can’t.” I state simply. I don’t miss his frown.

“Why not?”

“Because they’ve changed me. I have this voice in my head. I’ve _killed_ people because of it. How do I know I won’t do it again? I’m not the same person I was before.” I can feel my shoulders sag under the weight of it.

“And you don’t think the people at home will understand that? We’ve all been through the war, Peeta. We all have scars from it.”

“Tell me, Aurelius, are your scars making you strangle the President to death?” I ask pointedly, watching for his reaction. He’s the first person I’ve told, apart from Portia, and I expect more than just his small smile.

“No. But yours won’t either, if you let me make the extraction.” I stare. It’s all I can do as I look at him with my mouth slightly agape. He tries to crush down his small smile. “Brutus didn’t make it out of the extraction – we believe it was because of the additional damage from the Games. Mags did make it, but she’s also suffered a stroke since returning to District 13. We’re unsure if it’s related to the extraction or to the fact that she’s elderly...” He pauses, gauging my reactions. “You’d be our best patient yet. We’ll extract the tracker which should disable the part that gives commands. You won’t have any more losses of control, or interludes with voices.”

My reaction is to pace. In all honesty, I haven’t had an episode since killing the President. I know that’s likely because I haven’t been put in any scenarios where I’m subconsciously challenged, like Portia explains in her logs, but still. I’m weary about letting this stranger cut into my brain. What if I’m not the same after?

He cocks his eyebrow at me and I realize that last bit was actually said out loud.

“Well, Peeta, you already stated that you’ve changed. How much different can it be if they never knew the difference in the first place?”

 _Oh_.

“When can we start?”

 

 

It takes two weeks for Aurelius to gather what he needs to start the process. Every day he tells me more and tries to make me understand how it’s going to work but it all comes out as gibberish. Having never spent any time in a real hospital prior to coming to the Capitol in the first place (and I most definitely do not count District 13’s ward as a hospital), I barely understand what he talks about when he references different units.  None of it makes sense, but I go with it anyways. What choice do I have?

On my second day there, I’m put to work along with every other able bodied individual. They set me up in the kitchens with a barren supply of ingredients to hopefully start cooking (because to them cooking can’t be too far off baking and they remember me being good at _that_ ). In my off hours I find myself heading to the children’s wards to teach art classes, a hobby that’s turned into almost an escape.

The kids themselves, all Capitol born, are so much different than I ever expected. Not that I expected much, but I’m shocked by how they’re all just _kids_. They haven’t yet been truly tarnished by what the Games are or the damaging consumption that destroyed half of Panem. They’re just kids, like the ones who came into the bakery and stuck their noses against the glass.

I guess the reason I find myself there more often than not is because I can forgive them far quicker than I can forgive any of the adults. They’re the innocents here. The ones we started this war to save. And they deserve every giggle and moment of happiness that they can have, especially since most of them are in this ward for a reason.

I don’t like to think about that part. No, instead we paint. Sometimes we draw. It’s what keeps me breathing.

“Mr Peeta.” The little girl from my first day here, Cami Glass, is tugging on my shirtsleeve as I sketch in one of the bright bean bag chairs. Looking over at her, I’m struck again by her dark hair as a pang of sadness shifts through me. The smile on my face is forced. “I can’t get my orange right,” She whines, tugging me again until I follow her over to her easel.

Taking a look, I settle into a crouch beside her, leaning on my real leg as much as possible. “Let’s see here,” I ramble and look at her selection of colours. “What’re you trying to do here Cami?” Looking at the image before me, I can see where she’s drawn the buildings all in a childish light. The sky overhead is a stark blue and it’s easy to see the skyline she’s trying to create.

“It’s what my window at home looks like,” She states, grinning. “I’m trying to add a sun though, and it’s not working.”

“Ah, the dreaded sun. I usually have a problem with oranges too. Sometimes they’re too red, sometimes they’re too yellow. Never just right,” I sigh, nodding. Shifting the station minimally, I take her red and add a touch more of it to her orange. The colour blooms in the paint and she stirs vigorously. “Why don’t you try that and let me see it when you’re done?” Cami nods, turning back to her painting and biting her brush before running a line across the center.  

Watching her for a moment, I see what could have been my future. It startles me to realize that something I want, somewhere inside, is my own little girl that I can teach to paint. The thought pains me and I have to move back to my bean bag chair before I start to lose myself again.

Later that evening, back in the doctor’s lounge where they’ve set up cots for sleeping, I try to drift off to another night of restless sleep. My body is having none of it, turning over with every nearby breath and jerking awake with every gurney that hits the wall in the hall. Another sleepless night is upon me, I realize, shifting up until I’m wandering the hallways and watching the laminate tiles below.

I make my way through the corridors silently, listening to the bustle of nurses and patients as they move around. Every once in a while I hear a scream from down the hallway, echoing against the sterile walls and reminding everyone that there’s an end game to this life. It’s almost surreal the way the place seems to impose on you knowledge of your impending death.

Finding my way upstairs, I realize that I’m heading towards Aurelius’ office. I don’t turn around like I know I should – he’s probably sleeping in there already since now everyone who works at the hospital now practically lives here as the safe refuge. Instead I keep going, my fist knocking against the shuttered window lightly when I come upon it. Beyond the door I hear the rustling sound of blankets and the hissed breath when a knee hits a table.

“What?” Aurelius barks, blinking as he opens the door. The man looks uncharacteristically dishevelled. I try not to smile.

“I couldn’t sleep.” I state, my hands finding my pockets.

“Come on in then, apparently neither could I.” He steps back and I join him in the room, heading towards the couch that beckons me. I crawl onto it and rest my head against the armrest, a familiar action since I’ve come to the hospital. “What’s in your head tonight Peeta?”

“I wanted kids,” I mutter, using the past tense because I don’t think it’s a reasonable dream now.

“And what’s stopping you now?” Aurelius prods, lying back down on his own cot as though going back to sleep. I’m not insulted, this is what we do.

“Well, for one, I don’t have a uterus,” I joke, my words lighter than my intent. Aurelius laughs heartily.

“That is a hard one, I guess. But that’s not all of it, is it?” He continues and I nod though I know he can’t see it.

“I wanted them with Katniss. I’ve only ever wanted them with her, I think,” I continue, letting out one of the thoughts that has plagued me.

Aurelius sighs audibly and I hear him shift towards me. “Look Peeta, from what you’ve told me, Katniss loves you. That doesn’t just stop carte blanche. After we get this thing out you can go home, have kids with her, make a pretty little family. Hell, you could do it with the thing still in you. But you’ve got to actually _do it_. No amount of talking whimsy will make it happen. You need to go home to her.”  

“I don’t even know where she _is_ ,” I concede, realizing that I _do_ want to go home to her but I don’t even know if she’s still in District 13. She could be anywhere by now. Gale could have taken her anywhere. They could be happy.

My brain keeps digging the hole until Aurelius’ voice crackles back into my consciousness; “I’ve been informed that all District 12 refugees have been ordered home until District 13 can assess their population capabilities.” I shoot up from where I rest, the knowledge almost knocking me over.

“You know where they are?” I ask breathlessly, unsure of myself.

“From what’s happened, I’d bet they’re all back in District 12 by now with the resettlement program.” He states carefully, rolling onto his back. My blood thrums with excitement though I’m not fully sure why. “Let’s get you all cleared up first though, okay?”

“Yeah – get this show on the road...” I mutter absently and sink back down. Thoughts fill my head with being home in District 12 with Katniss. Of little children running in the meadow. That’s what I dream of that night. At least until I wake up from a nightmare filled with Portia’s garbled screams again.

 

 

When the time finally comes, I’m not ready. I put it off for days, not for fear of dying during the process – no, I don’t fear death really anymore – but instead because I don’t know what I’ll do after. I still haven’t had an episode since the President. Nor have I taken the risk to induce one. But I still don’t understand what this will mean for me. Will I be able to be or at least _see_ who I was before when I look in the mirror?

The thought terrifies me.

It takes more nightly sessions with Aurelius. More nights of him reminding me of things that I’ve told him that don’t make any sense. And definitely more nights of waking up covered in sweat because I still can’t sleep through the night.

But then they day comes when Cami shouts about her perfect orange and I know that it’s _time_. That there won’t ever be a perfect time to do this. That I need to just get it over with and live with who I am afterwards.

“Ready.” I state when Aurelius opens his office door that afternoon. I’ve sought him out fresh from the kitchens and I’m eager to get it over with. In all honesty, I’m afraid I’ll lose my nerve.

“Are you sure?” He questions, his eyebrow quirking up as he waves momentarily towards the patient in his room. Stepping out into the hall with me, he places his hand on my shoulder and looks me in the eyes.

“I want to go home,” I whisper, my voice nearly inaudible. It’s the truth. I so badly want to go home. I want to find the life I am supposed to be living if it weren’t for these fucking Games and the Capitol and the war and everything that has happened in between.

“Tomorrow morning then. I’ll call downstairs and have everything arranged. You’ll need to fast for twelve hours, starting at six. See your nurse for all your details.” I nod, turning away from him as he heads back into the room. I’m halfway down the hallway when I hear him shout out towards me, “Real or not real, Peeta?”

“Real. Definitely real.”

It’s the first time that I’ve ever compared what’s in my head to what is real or not.

 

 

 The mask is placed over my face and the nurse requests that I count down from thirty. Around twenty, I see Aurelius off to the side, flicking on an electric razor and then turning it back off again.

He smiles over at me, seeing that I’m still conscious.

“Don’t worry Peeta, I give the best haircuts in the city,” He jokes and squeezes my barely there hand. Everything is going numb.

Fifteen.

Fourteen.

Thirteen...

 

 

I feel like my skull has been cracked open and they’ve taken a whisk to my brain. That’s the only way to put into words the feeling that I have when I wake up.

Well, when I wake up to throw up.

The anesthetic has not been kind to me. At least that’s what the nurse says while she rubs my back through my flimsy hospital gown.

Curling up on my side, my head resting in a steel pan, I’m more nauseous than I ever in my entire life remember being. My _skin_ even hurts. But it holds no candle to the spinning brain and the pounding feeling of my blood in my veins.

It’s hard to keep it together those first few days. I sleep most of the time, medically knocked out as nurses come and go. They try to get me to eat but nothing really sits kindly. On the fourth day I keep down some crackers and they nearly break into applause. Aurelius even stops by to tell me how well the extraction went.

It’s all a blur. One that I don’t really mind forgetting for the rest of my life.

In a way, I’m thankful that I’m finally free of the device that was forced into me. In another way, when I look in the mirror and see the scar and my bald head, I’m terrified that this is going to change me for the worse.

I don’t want to think about it but Aurelius reminds me that there might be some changes I’ll just have to adjust to. ‘As with any surgery...’ has become his tagline.

All I want is to go home though. To find my way home and see if there’s anything even worth salvaging.

I try not to think about what I’ll do if the home I go back to is not one that welcomes me back. District 12 holds no family for me. No ties that bind. The only thing that draws me back there is Katniss and if anything, I’ll be lucky if she even wants me there. It’s been so long. I don’t think Aurelius has even notified anyone that I’m alive.

I’m still not sure I want them to _know_.

On the day that I get released, my hair has grown in just a little. I take it as a message that life needs to keep moving. A message I really want to believe.

But I stay at the hospital for another week, just to be safe. I visit Cami who has become a ward of the hospital since her mother’s passing. We talk about how to mix the paints to be just the right shade. She asks about my scars and whether they’re healed. When I point to the one on my head and say it’s on it’s way, she shakes her head and points to my chest.

“No – I mean these ones.” My heart. I blink, trying to clear my gaze as I watch this little girl with her dark hair and her wide eyes.

“I hope going home will make them heal.” I say carefully. She nods, much wiser than her age, and smiles at me.

“Go home then, Peeta.”

And I do.

After saying goodbye to a cautious Aurelius who requests that I phone him weekly on my progress, I pick up my clothes from Portia and start the walk to the train station.

I’m going home. At least, to what I think is home.


	35. Chapter 35

I’ve never liked the train. I mean yeah, sure, for the first sixteen years of my life I’d never been on one more than to grab bags of flour off of it for the bakery. But my first experience on one had pretty much solidified my distaste for the mode of transportation.

This time wasn’t going to be any better.

I remember back when I first boarded for the Games being absolutely in awe of my surroundings. It had all seemed so over the top and unnecessary and overwhelming. The feeling hadn’t passed throughout the trip and I’d partially contributed it – at least – to the fact that I was going to die in a few days.

But then I didn’t die. And my heart was broken on the ride home on that train. And with every stop on the Victory Tour the experiences on board had only intensified my anxiety and anger.

The train was nothing but _bad_ to me. I don’t think it would ever change for me.

Which is probably why I’m still standing on the platform, my toes tucking into the dust, as the conductor makes another ‘last call’ for passengers taking the express train to the outlying districts. He eyes me as though looking at me to board.

It’s the third one I’ve missed. I just can’t stand the idea of getting on the train – not now, not ever again. 

The train in front of me begins to pull out of the station and I sigh, settling down onto a bench against the wall and watching it leave. I’m not worried, another one is heading out in a few hours and maybe I’ll pull it together enough to get on that one.

I’m just thankful that the tickets are flexible. Ever since the war ended, transportation throughout Panem has apparently been relatively unreliable. Only recently, I was told by an older woman waiting for the one-o’clock, did they even start imposing fees for tickets. Since the war, the people displaced have only wanted to go home and the people with memories too deep only wanted to get out. Nobody had the money but everyone needed to _get_ somewhere.

And so it had just happened. People would show up to work the trains and people would be reunited or moved or _anything_. It was, I expect, the most unified that Panem has been since it was created. At least, that’s the idea I got from the tone in the woman’s voice. She’d been as old as Mags, if not older, and I was enthralled with her stories.

I’d used her as an excuse to miss my noon train.

Now, sitting on this bench, I take out my sketch pad and continue working on the images that hide in the corners of my mind. Carefully tracing across the page before me an image of District 4 blooms. I remember it from the Tour and my heart stutters with all the memories.

It’s only later, when the final train for the evening pulls in, that I muster up the courage to finally board. It’s what they now call the “All Around” because it gets you ‘all around’ Panem. Part of me thinks that this was the train I was meant to take because I was procrastinating on getting home. I’d be on this train for two days, at least. But sitting in my cabin (a luxury that I had sprung for with a little extra money I received from Aurelius to tide me over until my Victor money returned) I told myself that none of that mattered. Reasons didn’t matter.

The good thing was that I was going home. I hope.

 

 

“Um, excuse me?” I turn, hearing a knock at the door to see a young kid, standing in the doorway, clinging to the frame as though barely able to stand. I’m on my feet in a second, helping him to sit down as I take in the sight of his darkened eye and bloodied lip.

“Are you alright?” I ask. I’ll admit, I’m slightly weary. But I know what it’s like to wear colour on your face from something you couldn’t control – like a banner or a flag. I shove my resistance down and kneel before the kid – because he is just a kid – and offer him some jerky from my pack.

“Yeah – sorry – I shouldn’t be in here. But the ticket master found me in the cargos and I...” He pauses, his lips about to form around the jerky, when he seems to think twice about what he’s saying and he looks at me with a cocked eyebrow. I dismiss the budding recognition in his eyes as nothing more than something hanging over from the Games. I don’t push his story when he stops talking altogether – I don’t want to pry. Instead I sit back on the bed and pick my sketchbook back up.

It’s a little awkward at first, I’m not sure if I should talk or try to diffuse whatever is going through this kid’s head. I’m startled then when he shouts an apology at me, breaking the silence with his words.

“Don’t worry about it. You can hide out here for a bit.” I reply calmly and catch his nod out of the corner of my eye. I have to stifle a smile.

We sit in silence for a while, me working on my sketch and him finishing off the jerky as though he hasn’t eaten in a week. When the food cart comes around again, I purchase whatever I can with my meager remaining amounts of money and split it between us. The kid nearly cries over the food and I have to avert my eyes.

It’s only later, in the evening, when he speaks up again. “Sir, would you mind if...” He pauses, eyeing the door carefully as I look up from my sketch pad. “Could I sleep on the floor? I’ll be getting off the train tomorrow and I’ll be out of your hair I promise.”

“How about we trade?” I question quietly and turn to face him head on. He scowls but sits, waiting for my response. “Tell me what you’re looking for and you can ride out the rest of your trip in here.” His face pales and I see him look at his hands. I can tell there’s something he’s not telling me and though I don’t feel nervous about it, I am curious. Besides, I wouldn’t be able to kick him out even if he didn’t answer me.

“I’m going home to find my girl,” He whispers, his eyes averted to the window. My face cracks into a wide smile.

“Me too, kid, me too.” Nodding, I lie back on the thin mattress and think about what I’m actually going home for. I can only hope that Katniss is there and hasn’t disappeared somewhere else in the country. I mean, if she’s not there, I won’t even know where to start to look. My home won’t be in District 12 without her.

The silence seems to carry on comfortably between us as the sun sets out the window. The boy, lanky and thin, sprawls out on the floor and stuffs his shirt under his head for a pillow. Just when I think he’s asleep, he surprises me. “She’s the most beautiful girl I’ve ever known.” His voice sounds reverent and tired. In the quiet, I wonder how long he’s been on the road.

“Why were you in the Capitol?” I’m curious still, but I don’t move, hoping he’ll keep talking. For a moment, I miss my brothers and the way we used to talk before bed when we shared a room.

“Oh, I wasn’t. I got on in District 2. Was shipped off to do some training there and it wasn’t for me.” He mumbles and he breaks off the conversation hastily.

 

 

He’s sitting at the window seat when I wake up, his head leaning against the plate of glass that separates us from the outside. In this light, he looks familiar but I can’t seem to place it. It nags at me until he turns, catching me staring, and scowls. “Sorry for waking you up.”

“You didn’t, don’t worry about it.” I head to the bathroom to avoid staring at him any longer.

 

 

When the train starts up again and we’re leaving District 11, I’m finally able to align where I know him from. It’s obvious that he’s a native of 12, and I’ve likely seem him somewhere around town before. The knowledge that he’s going home to someone he knows, someone he loves, from my District, only encourages my hopes for Katniss being there when I get back. I mean, if this kid is willing to find his way back, then how many others have already?

I’m flying high by the time the train begins to pull into the District 12 station. All my anxiety about the train seems to dissipate as I join the small crowd of people disembarking onto the old fragile platform.

Steadying myself on my feet, I nod a goodbye to the kid, and look at the District before me. It’s different. You can see it in the groaning building rooftops, in the black ash that lines the streets that didn’t come from the mine. Half of the District has been levelled to my left and a small portion of teetering houses remains standing to my right.

Beyond the station house are more houses – well, what can be said for houses. They’re in the middle of being built.

I don’t know what the emotion is that fills me when I turn from ashes to desolation to rebirth. I feel like I’ve been through a wringer and all excitement from coming home is confused with this feeling. It bubbles up from inside and I have to take a seat on the bench near the station house, if only to catch my breath.

Somehow, this home coming is more terrifying than any other.

After a while, I pull myself together and walk towards what used to be the Merchant area. I know my first instinct should be to go home – to go to where Katniss is – but I can’t just yet. The feeling from the station still hasn’t left me and I need to face this first.

I need to see the bakery. Where my family died.

I must pass it twice before I realize that the ash and tin roof are the remnants of my old home. In the end, it’s the grate to the old ovens that catches my eye and lets me in on the secret. It burns, but not as badly as I thought it would. I stand there for what seems like hours as my mind digests the image before me.

I catalogue it into the part of my brain that houses my nightmares. I know it’ll come back. It’s inevitable.

Behind me, in the distance, I hear a shriek and my body is turning around to the sight, my heart in my throat, before I realize. I watch as a blond girl bolts forward, her hair trailing behind her until she collides with the boy that can only be the kid who hid out in my cabin. Though they weren’t far apart to begin with, the impact makes them tumble to the ground and I laugh. Somewhere inside of me the dam of emotion breaks and I’m laughing and crying like some fool as I watch them reunite from afar, sitting on the abandoned step of the bakery.

When I’m able to, I return to my feet (foot) and head onwards through the District toward Delly’s old house. It’s no longer standing, another victim of the bombs that fell. I think about Delly in that moment – I don’t know where she is and I never asked in 13, too consumed with myself. I’d bet that she’s still alive, somewhere. That girl is a fighter.

Beyond the house I look to see the swing set, the metal still standing tall. The sight of it reminds me of everything that comes crashing back. It’s like a wave that tumbles over me, drenching me in the past and reminding me of the future and all the dreams I’d built sitting on those swings.

I’m heading towards the most important dream I ever had when I turn away, finally heading for home.

 

 

The Victor’s Village still stands tall. Though the grass is overgrown and some of the houses are finally showing wear, their rooftops still cast long shadows in the afternoon sun. They look abandoned.

I try not to let my heart fall in my chest as I walk towards the house that belongs to Katniss and her family. Though I know they lived in harsh times before, I can’t imagine why Mrs Everdeen wouldn’t have kept it lively now after the war. The thought makes me nervous as I stand at the foot of the lawn, staring at the windows with their curtains drawn.

For a moment, I simply can’t move. The place doesn’t look lived in, not to mention the whole Village looks deserted. I feel the pressure rising in my chest as my head starts to fill with all of the possibilities that could have happened. The most obvious and striking one – that Katniss hasn’t come back – seems to override everything and my stomach turns.

Slowly, trying to breathe through the anxiety, I step forwards and up the porch, my hands grasping the railing as though for dear life. I’m just about to knock when another voice, casted in surprise, shouts out from behind. “She’s not there.”

I don’t turn around. Instead I sink to a crouch and rest my head between my knees, my mind light headed and overwhelmed. My body doesn’t register the hand on my shoulder until it squeezes, seemingly bringing my senses back together. I’m surrounded by the sickeningly sweet smell of liquor.

“Haymitch,” I mumble. I’m not going to stand, not just yet.

“It’s okay kid. Just breathe, alright?”

Together we stay idle until my legs (leg) begins to hurt and I have to sit down. I still don’t think I can stand. Not with this weight pushing me down so far I’m nearly under. Haymitch joins me on the porch, leaning back against the door and watching me out of the corner of my eye.

“We thought you were dead.” He states. I can hear the frailty behind his monotone words. My chest clenches and I feel the burn at the back of my eyes. She thought I was dead. No wonder she’d left. Holding my head in my hands my fingers press into my scalp, drawing me out of my sinking thoughts.

“It was the program – it made me go. And when...” I gasp at the end, trying desperately to keep it together. I hear Haymitch shift before his hand is on my good foot, holding it tightly.

“Hey – hey, Peeta,” He jerks his hand and I hear the bottle slam down between us as his body creaks on the floorboard. Before I know it, the old drunk is pulling me up into his arms and holding me tightly. It’s only then that I realize that I’m crying again. It’s only then that I realize that I miss her so much it _hurts_. “Peeta, kid. Pull it together. She’ll be back, she always comes back.” His words catch me and I choke, desperate to hear him again.

“What?” I huff, breaking away. I hold the man at arm’s length, taking in his almost polished appearance and the fine cut of his hair. Though I know he’s drinking, there’s something more that’s keeping him together. He doesn’t smell like vomit and rot. Inside of me, a flame is lit. “She’s coming back? From where? Tell me everything.”

Haymitch laughs, the frown and concern dissolving from his face as the large guffaws take over him. “Jesus Peeta – that’s just... Wow. Don’t worry – she’ll be back. She left her sister here with me and promised I wouldn’t have to babysit forever.”

“Tell me, please.”

“She’s off in District 4. Gale’s mom decided to relocate and Katniss’ mom joined her – they’ve been moving them down there for the past week,” Haymitch continues, lighting over the mention of Gale. I guess it shows on my face, the hesitation at his name. “Look kid, she hasn’t been the same since. She’s barely kept herself away from the Everdeen trait. She almost lost it when she heard the President was dead – figured you went with him or something. Locked herself in her room for a week.”

As he speaks, I don’t dare look away. I watch for a sign of a lie, for a manipulation. But nothing. The man fiddles with the top of his liquor bottle, continuing on without pausing. “It’s been hard, kid. It’s been hard on everyone.”

When he finally pauses, I look out towards the entrance to the Village and breathe. I could see it, while he spoke, the way his face had tightened ever so slightly.

“You thought I was dead too, didn’t you?” I ask carefully. He nods, pulling a swig from his bottle.

“I figured you’d run off to sacrifice yourself or something stupid. You have that pattern already. When Snow died, I thought it was you and I had hope, but then you didn’t send word or come back – I figured you were dead already.”

“I did kill him.” My whisper makes him pause, the bottle dropping to the floor. He’s frozen in motion while I turn back to him. “I strangled him to death. I couldn’t come back – I was still wrong. They’ve changed me for the worse. I murdered someone. I killed him-“ My voice climbs with each word, the bile rising in my stomach as an edge of anger and frustration returns.

“It wasn’t in cold blood – he was bound for death already. Don’t confuse the guilt.” Haymitch interrupts.

“But _I_ did it! On purpose!” Haymitch only laughs.

“You think we didn’t all want the opportunity? He would have been dead within the day, had you not have done it. Don’t let this eat at you – what you did was just. But, what I don’t understand is what the hell you’ve been up to. Where the fuck have you been?” His face betrays his voice, reminding me of all the anger that must be coursing through him.

“I took Portia home.” I mumble.

“Portia’s alive?” All I can do is shake my head as the memory pushes to the forefront.

“ _Oh_.” It seems to catch him off guard and I have to take a shuddering breath before I continue.

“They made her an Avox because she was the feeder for Borealis’ information. She rigged my device somehow. She was in the holding cells when I was brought to the President’s mansion. Dr Aurelius – he’s Borealis, by the way – said something about her ‘aglossal’ status and that it was a complication. I don’t know – I stayed with her because I couldn’t come home. And then she died and I found Aurelius and just... Now I’m here.”

Haymitch’s hand is on my foot again, squeezing tightly. At one point, I have to pry his fingers loose while he stares off into the distance.

“She always was a good one,” He mumbles quietly to himself.

We sit there together for a while, staring out at the darkening sky before us. When two bodies seem to crest the hill into the Village, I see Haymitch shift and get to his feet, his face contorting in confusion.

“Who the fuck is she bringing home?” His voice is strained as he squints. I join him standing and try to make out the shapes approaching. The closer they come, the more sure I am that these two are the kids from the Square.

“He squatted in my cabin car on the train,” I whisper roughly to Haymitch, recognizing the boy. It’s only then that I see that the boy is with Prim who looks far more grown up than I remember. I can’t believe my eyes as I barely recognize her. “Prim?” My voice carries in the wind and she must hear it because she stops short, staring at me as the boy by her side moves his arm around her waist. I notice how Haymitch’s body tenses slightly at the sight.

“Her sister is going to _kill me_.”

I don’t have a chance to laugh at his words before I’m stepping off the porch and catching Prim as she barrels into my chest. Pulling her up into a hug, her arms wrap around my neck and squeeze until I almost can’t breathe.

“You’re not dead! Everyone said – everyone-“ Her words are muffled by my neck, interrupted by her sobs as she cries bitterly against me. My arms only seem to tighten as I realize just how much I missed my sister. Prim _is_ my sister – she always will be.

“Shh, I’m alive. I’m home.” I try to soothe but she doesn’t stop. Looking up, I see the boy from the train approach me and my brows furrow.

“Rory Hawthorne, Mr Mellark. I think you know my brother.” Realization must dawn over my face because he steps back hesitantly and smiles sadly. Still gripping Prim with my one arm, I reach out and offer him my hand, a gesture of understanding. He takes it in return, smiling brightly.

“Your brother is a good man,” I force the words out, trying to keep them even. Despite my jealousy, Gale is doing exactly what I asked of him. There’s no way I can be mad at that.

“Alright, okay. We’ve all said our hellos. Prim, what the hell is this? I said no pets!” Haymitch shouts from the porch. Prim laughs into my chest, her sobs dwindling as she sniffs away her tears. Slowly, she releases me and steps back until Rory’s arm is resting around her waist again.

“He came back for me Haymitch, just like Peeta came back for Katniss,” She replies through her tear-weakened voice. Through the redness in her eyes, I can see the way she’s watching me to make sure. Make sure that I came back right. Something must make her pause because her next words catch me off guard: “You did come back for her, right?”

It almost breaks me, the way she says it. The way she doubts it. Have I really been gone that long that I would make her doubt?

“Yes, Prim. I came back for her. I needed time to get right first though.” Her returning scowl is not what I expect.

“You had time! Mags came back right after you all left! Not a week later! Where the hell were _you_?” All of a sudden she’s gone from crying to this anger that seems to consume her.

“Prim, you don’t understand. I-“

“No!” She shouts, stepping forward and pressing her finger into my chest. “You don’t understand. We thought you were _dead_! You didn’t even send word! You left us here to mourn – do you have any idea the effect you’ve caused?”

“No.” It’s a whispered confession. Her words have hit me where I’m still wounded. I hurt them by staying away, by trying to keep them safe from me.

“Peeta, she... She almost _left us_.”

 _Katniss_.

The name echoes in my head and the guilt strikes me down.

“Prim – she didn’t though. Let’s not do this-“ Haymitch tries but Prim rounds on him in an instant.

“Don’t you dare! You were just as bad as her. Don’t try to deny it. You wallowed for _weeks_ and then we brought you back here and you wouldn’t leave your house. Mom had to feed you and Katniss was disappearing into the woods for _days_ until Gale brought her back. It’s been hell and now here you are, standing there like everything’s all right!” Her shouting seems to echo off the building walls and she starts to cry once more, her anger bringing her to tears.

“I couldn’t come back,” I answer quietly, shifting on my feet. I know that I deserve this berating – I’d stayed away for so long. “I couldn’t Prim – I promise you. I never meant for this.” I feel my voice shake as Haymitch puts his hand on my shoulder. It kills me inside to know that he suffered too. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be mad, Prim,” Rory’s voice is barely audible as he whispers against her cheek. “It was a war – nobody wanted to be where they were.”

The silence seems to stretch all around us as the sun sets below the horizon. The bite of a mosquito brings me back and I take in my surroundings. _I’m home_. _Almost_.


	36. Chapter 36

On my first day back, Haymitch and Rory help me break into my old house. It was just as I left it, with the exception of the items my father had left for me on the table. I’d found them first when I broke through the back door’s window and we all stumbled our way into my kitchen. Haymitch had come to chase out any animals and Rory had come to check power sources and my appliances (apparently technological matters were part of his training in District 2 – I didn’t question it).

Prim had gone home in a sour mood to prepare us all dinner. None of us had pushed on the fact that she was still furious with me, although we all knew that it would pass. It was an anger built out of love, not hatred.

Coming upon the table, I’d paused at first, not quite understanding what was on it. I’d remembered that I had left it bare, just in case the house was used after my death. In fact, the rest of the house was perfectly ordered, just in case.

On top of the smooth surface stood a picture frame, two parts that folded together. One side held an image of my brothers and father, the other, a sketch I’d done of Katniss a long time ago, sitting in the school yard. I let my fingers ghost over the edges of the frame before I set it back down and looked to a small notebook that was next to the table. Instantly my mind recognized it as my father’s, one I knew he filled with all of the family recipes. I didn’t have to open it to know it was brimming with everything I longed to bake.

Finally, tucked next to the book was a letter written on thick parchment. My hands hovered over it before I looked up to meet Haymitch’s stare.

“He didn’t do this for my first Games,” I mutter, dropping my eyes momentarily.

“Probably didn’t think you were coming back the first time.” Haymitch responds and I can hear his shrug in his voice. I laugh bitterly and lean against the table as I listen to the sound of Rory flicking light switches upstairs.

“He knew I wasn’t coming back this time – we talked about it.” I’m almost forceful, spiteful even. The anger spurring inside of me building from somewhere I don’t quite understand.

“Maybe he thought you could do it again. Hope does funny things to people kid. Besides, you found it, didn’t you?”

Haymitch’s boots are moving out the door before I have a chance to respond. Instead, I pull out a chair and sit at the table, the letter mocking me from where it sits. I desperately want to read it, but I’m not sure I could take another heavy emotion today. The sound of Rory heading back into the kitchen pulls my attention and I stuff the paper into my pocket.

“You should be all set – your spare room light flickers but I doubt you’ll use it,” Rory announces, lumbering back into the room. He sees the items on the table and eyes me wearily. “Don’t worry Peeta. The Everdeens are like this sometimes.” And then he’s gone, escaping out the back door and apologizing through the shattered window when more pieces fall onto the ground.

 

 

I’m back in District 12 for a week before I start to get back into the flow of things. I spend the first few days bouncing from one construction site to another, moving wood and hammering nails to keep my mind occupied. In the evenings, when it’s cooler outside, I try to get back to baking. The recipes in my head are a little rusty and more than once do I have to look at my father’s notebook.

In those moments, I nearly have to stop what I’m doing and clench the back of a chair, desperately trying to prevent the overwhelming sadness at his death. I try not to think about the letter tucked under my pillow that I can’t bring myself to read.

The first successful loaf I prepare I share with Haymitch, Prim, and Rory. We’ve taken to eating together nightly, if only to keep each other company. Since my return, Rory has joined Prim in Haymitch’s house, all of them living together in some weirdly functioning unit. I don’t ask and nobody offers details about what exactly happened with Rory in District 2.

Everyone has their war story, I’ve come to realize.

It’s late when I’m sitting in my kitchen, drawing on a scrap piece of paper. I’ve spent the day at the building site for our new market, helping work on the framing so that they can start putting everything else together. An older miner by the name of Thom is leading the rebuilding effort and he doesn’t question the scar on my head or the familiarity that I arouse in some of the other workers nor the rumour that apparently I’ve been dead. It seems nobody wants to relive the Games in my District and I’m thankful.

The phone ringing is what startles me and I look up, my eyes landing on the ever-silent machine that’s now almost vibrating with excitement. My stomach leaps into my throat as I stand and lift the receiver, my voice coming out as a croak as I say “Hello?”

On the other end of the phone, all I hear is silence. It drags on for a moment too long before there’s a ‘click’ and the line starts to hum. I return the phone to its cradle and continue my drawing, thinking nothing of it.

 

 

I’m learning how to lay brick. It’s hot and humid as my shirt sticks to my back, the sun beating down on us with a strange level severity. The market building is coming together with every day that passes, its end result coming closer and closer every day. I can feel it in the men and women that I work with that this will be a huge first step in rebuilding the District.

I’ve never been more proud in my life to be part of something.

Deep in concentration, I barely notice the shadow that looms over me as I lay another brick and lather on more cement.

“If you’re just going to stand there, you could at least get us some water,” I groan, turning and rubbing the sweat from my forehead. My heart stops when my eyes land on her, staring at me with her mouth open and her fingers clenched into fists at her shirt hem. “ _Katniss_.” Her name escapes my lips in a rush and I feel more lightheaded and woozy with every second that passes.

When I step forward, I think the most crushing thing is that she steps backward. It hits like a wallop to the chest and I can hear the workers around me slow their efforts as they watch the scene play out before them. I want to leap at her, gather her up and never let her go. But I can see by the look on her face and the shock in her eyes that this is not what she wants or needs.

It’s only after she takes off, bolting out of the Square and towards the Village, that I get to have my first breath since her appearance.

“What are you waiting for?” Thom shouts from somewhere behind me, bringing me back to the present. I know he’s talking to me. Despite never telling him or anyone, he knows exactly what’s happening here. What _am_ I waiting for? My _home_ is back.

I take off running, my leg jerking with every step after being prone in a kneeling position for hours. It doesn’t matter though as I see her moving over the hill, barreling back to the safety of her house. I crest the hill to the Village just as she slams her door shut. If I were closer, I’m sure I would hear the lock click.

My steps falter as I slow to a walk, trying to figure out just how I’ll never stop apologizing for everything that I’ve done.

 

 

I try the door, just to be sure, only to find it indeed locked. My knocking goes unanswered as well. But I’m not going to give up – not after everything. Instead I settle myself on her porch and decide to wait her out, just in case she chooses to come find me.

It’s a few hours later when I see Gale himself, hurtling over the hill with a backpack and bag in his hands. He’s dressed in traditional military greens and I can tell he’s frazzled. He looks distressed even from here. I stand and step down from the porch, unsure of exactly how this reunion will go. When he gets close enough to see me, much like Prim, he draws up short.

And stares.

For too long.

“You’re dead,” He shouts, the sound reaching me and dragging me down.

“Not quite. Perhaps, just missing.”

He stares at me for a second longer before he drops the bags and pushes past me, pulling out a set of keys and turning the lock over. He doesn’t even wait for me to step inside before he’s taking the stairs two at a time and shouting Katniss’ name.

“Catnip!” The sound echoes off the wall as I take my first look inside the house. It’s almost sterile with the way it’s cleaned, everything in its place. It looks nothing like the home I remember it as. Above me, I hear a bedroom door slam open and then boots stop moving.

It’s a long while before Gale comes back downstairs and pushes me from the entryway back to the porch.

“Don’t worry – just give her time,” Gale mutters as he closes and relocks the door behind us. Turning back to me, he runs his hands through his hair, seemingly pulling at it as he looks down at me. “Since you left, I haven’t stopped chasing her down. That girl has become a runner.” He says, exasperated. 

Together, we make our way over to my house at his urging and we sit at my kitchen table, the silence almost overwhelming.

“Is she alright?” I ask, finally regaining my ability to talk.

“No. But she will be now,” He replies sadly, looking away. “Where _were_ you?” There’s a hint of anger in his voice.

“I couldn’t come back yet. There was so much...” I can’t finish, my words almost cowardly.

“You couldn’t even let her know? That you were alive? Peeta – geez, are you a fucking idiot?”

“It would have been worse if she knew I was alive but not back! It would have broken our promise to each other, to always come back and be there.” I try to reason, but even I know it’s a bullshit excuse. I’d been too afraid to come back.

“You don’t understand how it’s been. You don’t get it,” Gale mutters. I wonder in that moment if he’s thinking about all of the times he thought it would be him and Katniss. I wonder if now it _is_ him and Katniss. The idea makes me blanche and he notices it easily. “Don’t get stupid – there’s nothing left between us.”  

I’d let out a breath of relief, but I think that’d be too obvious. He laughs lightly anyways.

“I did my best, Peeta. To keep our promise. She kept running though, as though it would make it better. But I did my best – even getting on the next train when we discovered she wasn’t in District 4 anymore.”

“What?” My eyes snap up to his at his words and he shrugs.

“She said you picked up the phone – that’s why she came home. She called you last night because sometimes she does that just to make sure. But last night she said you picked up. Got on the next train back here without telling any of us. I figured if she was going anywhere she’d come back here, so I got on the first train after that and came back.”

“I didn’t know it was her.” I reply quietly and look at the picture frame I’ve placed in the corner of the window sill. Katniss’ still silhouette in the image catches my eye and I stare at it. “I miss her.” The words seem ripped from my chest. Now that she’s here, all I want is to hold her.

“I get it – but you need to just wait. You’ve spooked her. She’s been trying to come to terms with thinking you’re dead – this is a huge shock. You know her Peeta, just try to imagine what it would be like for you,” Gale replies and shifts back in his chair.

“I wouldn’t have made it this long,” I mutter back. And I know then that it’s true. If Katniss were to die or leave me, I wouldn’t stick around. I’d have nothing left.

The silence seems to fill the kitchen for a long time after that. Gale sits with me for an hour before getting to his feet.

“I guess you’re going to see your brother?” I ask when he stands.

“What?” Turning, he stares, slack jawed. “My family doesn’t live here anymore, Peeta.” He insists, frowning.

“That’s not what I’ve seen. Go see Prim, ask her about it.” I don’t mean to intrude, but the shock on his face, mingled with the hidden smile, is almost a reward.

“Goddamn Rory,” He mutters and heads out the door. He’s almost gone when he pops his head back in and smiles sadly at me. “I’m glad you made it. She will be too. Just, grow your hair in okay? That scar looks painful.” And with that, he’s gone, stalking off across the lawns towards Haymitch’s house.

 

 

I spend the first few hours staring at the picture frame as I hold it in my hands. I remember the afternoon I drew it, sitting at the front counter of the bakery. I’d spent the whole of the lunch hour just watching as Katniss played with her younger sister in the school yard. It had been just after her father died and a rare moment that she’d smiled since.

I’d wished I’d talked to her then. Not wasted so much time.

It’s past midnight when I finally crawl into my bed and turn out the light. I stare at the ceiling for what seems like hours as the darkness surrounds me. It feels especially lonely tonight, considering that Katniss is so close yet still so far away. All I want is to bust in her door. To find her and apologize and beg for forgiveness. Somewhere between all that, I’m able to drift off into a restless sleep.

 

 

My bed isn’t cold anymore. I keep my eyes shut, thinking it’s perhaps a dream, as my body comes alive by feeling the arm around my waist and the foot hooked around my leg. When I feel the warm breath against my neck, I peek open my eye and steadily release the air from my lungs.

I can’t wait anymore. My body folds around Katniss without waiting a moment longer; dragging her from her sleep as my chest presses to hers and my leg pulls her flush against me. I don’t hesitate to brush my lips against her forehead, resting my chin on the top of her head as the breath shudders out of me. She doesn’t squirm or move, apart from the quiet weeping that seems to overtake her.

“I am _so sorry_ ,” I whisper, on repeat. It flows out of me in gasps, in between hitches in my breathing. My fingers hold her shoulder blades and if it was possible, I would mesh our bodies together. I just want her closer. I want her never gone from my side. “Please, forgive me. _Please_. I love you so much,” It aches in my chest, the sound of her tears.

I hold her there for a long time, her body slowly seeming to calm down as I continue my mantra. “I’m sorry. I love you. Forgive me. Please.”

After a while – after too long – she seems to pull away from me, her face reaching up until we’re staring at each other, eye to eye. Her grey to my blue. There’s a crackle of electricity between us before she presses a too-wet kiss to my lips, her tears mingling on her skin. It’s hot and frantic and her hands reach up until she’s pulling at me like I’m disappearing through her fingers. When she pulls away, it’s only an inch and so that she can breathe.

“You came back,” She whispers and I don’t know why we’re whispering because I just want to shout and scream and laugh and cry until she knows how much I fucking _love her_. “I knew you weren’t dead – I _knew it_ ,” She continues and then grabs me again and pulls me to her lips.

We kiss and kiss and kiss, her tongue skating past my lips and into my mouth. Her teeth pull on my lip as my hands find her braid and release it. Hair slides down over her shoulders as my hands slip against her spine, tracing the too-prominent bones there. The heat seems to take over as she pushes me onto my back and rests over top of me, her body withering against mine and pulling moans from my mouth.

I want _slower_. I want to savour this. I want her.

“Kat _niss_ ,” I hiss her name between clenched teeth as she bites my neck. I try again and clench my hands around her waist, urging her hips to stop their movement against me. “Katniss, please,” I plea. It seems to bring her up short and she pauses, looking down at me with red lips and mussed hair.

“You don’t want-?” Her whisper almost wounds me.

“No! No I do! Feel, I do!” I shout in reply, dragging her hand until it glides over the hardness in my pants. When she looks up from where her fingers linger, she smiles wickedly and leans forward again. I stop her, my hands resting against her cheeks as my thumbs stroke slow circles. “Katniss,” I try again and just stare at her. I watch as her great facade seems to come apart at the seams, her face falling into the despair and sadness that must have consumed her for so long. “I’m sorry, can you forgive me?” It’s a harsh whisper.

I’m not sure I want to hear her answer.

I hold my breath.

“Peeta,” Her eyes close slowly and she sits atop me, her breathing unbalanced and creaking in her chest.

“Please,” I urge and force my hands to stop their tempting climb to her chest.

“You never needed to apologize. You promised you’d come back and you did. Now shut up and let me have you.” Her lips are once again on mine, the kiss burning through me and stealing my air. I don’t question it, not for one moment, as she rocks herself against me and her tongue dances with mine.

The pace has slowed down enough that I’m able to _feel_ her. My hands trace the line of her shirt before I slowly start to lift. When I pause at her chest, she lifts her arms in silent permission and I discard the cloth on the floor. The sight of her bare torso spurs me on and I roll us over until she’s below me, her hands pinned above her head as our eyes meet.

“I love you,” I whisper, sinking down and trailing my lips from her jaw to her neck, from her chest to her stomach. Pausing at her pajama bottoms, my fingers loop themselves in the waist band and I force her to meet my eyes. Her lift of the hips is another silent gesture and I slide them off to reveal more bare flesh below. Meeting her eyes, I hold her gaze as my mouth slips down to her core. Her fingers find my hair as her moans fill the room, echoing off the bare walls. Slipping a finger inside, I work it slowly in time with my mouth, nibbling and kissing as her hips buck towards me. I feel a pull on my hair just as I feel her crest around me, her body lifting off of the bed and into the air. I don’t stop my assault on her until she’s resting again, like jelly, on the mattress.

“Peet _a_ ,” My name comes out as a whine while her fingers clench around my shoulders trying to pull me back to her. I go willingly, sliding myself along her body and wrapping her close to me again, as though I’ll never get the chance for another moment like this. Falling back to earth, she starts to laugh lightly, pulling me back to look at her.

I can see it there, the absolute love that she has for me. It’s the same look we shared on the night I left District 13. But now it’s a smile hidden behind it all, not a sad goodbye.

“Don’t ever leave me again,” She whispers into my ear as she plants kisses along my jaw. They’re slow and languid and even though I can still feel myself straining against my own pants, I don’t care. I’ll take this soft Katniss. I’ll take any Katniss.

“I won’t ever go. Not ever. I promise.” I reply gruffly, my hands sliding up and down the skin of her back. Her kisses start to slow until I feel her head tuck against the crook of my neck, her breathing tickling the small hairs along my chest. I feel my body stir and protest but I mentally shut it down, instead removing my pants to try to get some relief. _This_ closeness, _this_ is what I really want. Sex is passive – this trust, this love, this is what I came back for.

We lay together for hours, her curled up in my embrace as my body tries to relax. Neither of us sleep and instead we listen to the sound of our breathing, assuring each other that we’re both real and we’re both here.

After a while, as the dawn’s early morning light begins to slink through the window, I lift myself up, pulling her with me, until I’m leaning against the wall and she’s resting on my chest. She looks beautiful like this, with her hair cascading down over her shoulder and her olive skin almost glowing in the low light. When she looks up, her grey eyes catch mine and there’s a sparkle in them.

“How did you know I was alive?” I ask. Her smile tightens but doesn’t disappear.

“Because you said your body made you do things that you _should_ do. Not that you wanted to do. If you wanted to die, you would have. But I think you knew you went to the Capitol for more than just getting control again – didn’t you?” Her pause allows me to think, taking in her words. In more ways than one, she’s right about this. “You went to kill him – didn’t you?”

My head nods before I even consider it. Killing him was what I should do. Just another trick my body played.

“I knew you were still alive.” She concludes with finality as she squeezes her eyes shut and grabs hold of my hand.

“Then why all the running?” I don’t want to bring it up, but that’s a part that I truly don’t understand. If she was convinced I was alive, why did she try to run away from where I would come back to? Looking down at her, her face is tight with a scowl.

“I was trying to get to the Capitol to bring you back.” The way she says it, under her breath and tight with frustration, almost makes me laugh. And then I realize that she was trying to get to me when I was trying to stay away. “Gale made me come back – they were all convinced you were gone and that I was losing my mind. So I just came back and cleaned. Everyone thought I was crazy but I was _waiting_. And you took so goddamn long – Mom moved out and the Hawthornes scattered and everyone just kinda, _went crazy too_.” She pauses and pulls in a breath, sitting up until her back is straight as she tells me the story. “None of them tried to help me apart from keeping me here. They were all just trying to keep it together for themselves – but with the war...”

“Katniss.” My hands find hers and I lace our fingers together. “I’m sorry I stayed away. I had other things to tie up and-“ The fall of her facade and the gentle touch of her fingers along the scar on my scalp nearly break me down.

“Oh Peeta,” She whispers, getting to her knees and hovering over me. My hands find her waist and hold her steady as she rests her cheek against the top of my head.

“Portia’s dead.” It comes out of me in a groan, the still fresh pain of it bubbling under my skin. Katniss only holds me tighter, her arms and legs wrapping around my torso. Though the mood isn’t close to anything light, she can’t contain the laughter that spills out of her as she feels me harden against her backside.

“This is inappropriate,” She gasps and moves to pull back.

“No it’s not,” I reply and grip my hands around her waist. “Portia pushed for this. She would be happy I came home to you. She would have been so happy.”

“Let’s not...” I know she wants to say ‘let’s not talk about the dead’ – I don’t need to hear her say it. Instead I capture her lips in mine and unabashedly rub myself against her core. Above me, she withers as a groan escapes her mouth.

 “I’m so glad I’m home,” I mutter against her cheek, just before I slip myself inside of her. I almost cry at the warmth and the feeling of her surrounding me.

“You promised,” She replies, slowly moving in my lap, her breathing starting to pick up. The smile that finds my lips grows significantly.

“I promised you. Always.”

I finally got what I dreamed about back on those swing sets: Katniss, a family, a home. The Capitol has taken so much from me since the Games. But now I’ve got my whole life to be here. I’ve got my whole life to be _home_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so that's the last chapter. I'll be posting up an epilogue just to conclude it, but thank you all so freaking much for your amazing comments, kudos, whatever. It's been a long, tiring journey, and I hope it didn't disappoint.


	37. Letters - Epilogue

"Peeta, what's this?"

I let the water run over my aching muscles for another minute before I stick my head past the curtain. Katniss is standing, her gaze focused on my father's letter. It strikes me then that maybe I don't want her to see it.

Maybe _I_ don't want to see it.

I'm out of the shower and pulling her against me, my fingers slowly setting the letter on the bathroom cabinet.

The letter is forgotten and the next day, I hide it in my bedside drawer next to Portia's notebook.

 

 

We're officially moving into Katniss' house and giving Prim and Rory mine. Everyone's involved in the move and our stuff is sprawling out between the two houses. It's been four years since the war and every day we've been practically living together since. But now it's official. Now there's no backing out, no running.

I've never been more excited. I've never been more terrified.

Somewhere, in the distance, Gale and Delly are fighting over how to best fit something or other through the door. Katniss is hiding in some bedroom, tidying up and looking for any last things we've left behind. Haymitch loiters on his porch, drinking so as to not have to lift a finger. All around me, my family are thriving.

My footsteps fall heavily on the wood porch as I carry another box loaded with painting supplies. "Look out, Prim!" I shout, giving her fair warning to vacate the steps before I kick her.

"Peeta?" She asks, her voice tentative as she moves to stand by the rail. I see it then, the folded parchment slightly yellowed with the hands of time. For the first time, it's open and by the look on her face I know that she's read it. My stomach feels sick as I set down the box and look her in the eye. From the way she steps back, I'm not sure if I'm meaning to be menacing or not, but I must be.

"Where'd you get that?" I ask harshly. I try to clear my throat and push the anger away. Prim didn't mean to invade – she really would never.

"I – I found it. When I was cleaning out your drawers – I – Peeta, I'm sorry!" I see the tears slip from her cheeks as she thrusts the letter at me, the paper moving in the slight breeze. It's my turn to step back, away from the threat of anguish that she waves at me. "Take it," she pleads, stepping forward again.

"Prim." I crack. My fingers pinch my nose to try to stave off tears.

"To my boy, Peeta," Prim's voice shakes as she reads the letter.

Secretly, I want to plug my ears or take off into the trees. I don't want to hear my father's last words to me. I don't want to remember how much it hurts to have him really be gone. This will mean it's real and in all honesty, perhaps his death is something I'm still not comfortable with.

"Reading this, you will find that I'm not as good with words as you – we were never the wordsmiths you became. You are the son I know, not what I raised. I do not think I have yet raised a man as good as you. You became this man, one with honour and integrity and love, from your own strength. And you are reading this now because you, my intelligent and kind son, have found another loop hole. You found your way back to your family, to your love, to your dreams. And you are reading this because despite everything, you have survived.

The son I know is a Victor. The son I know is not the cowardice of his father or the anger of his mother. The son I know is the bravery in facing death. He is the love that you read about. He is the son I know, the son I love.

Bring him home to me. Make this name honourable again.

I'll see you soon."

Somewhere along the way I've closed my eyes, letting Prim's words rush over me and hearing my father's voice speak them aloud. When it ends, I realize that I'm on my knees and that these arms around me are the love he spoke about.

My father knew me so well.

Prim kneels before where Katniss and I sit, holding each other together. Her fingers are still holding the letter tightly as she watches us. "I think you should have this too," Prim adds quietly and reaches forward to lay Portia's notebook before me. Inside is tucked her note to me, the one that reminds me to keep living.

I don't cry when she hands me the letter. Nor do I cry when I realize it's also the deed to the bakery. I wait until later, when we're in the new house and I'm kneading dough to remember the man who wrote that letter.

My father, the man I'd known.

 

 

Life is not a game to be won. There are no ranks to obtain and no competition to beat. People will tell you otherwise – they will make it sound dreary and endless. They will tell you to give up, that it only gets worse.

But what they don't tell you is that it is always darkest before the day. I came home without a leg, without my love, without my family. But they came back to me, one by one. The hardest part _was_ to live after. But it's only through living through the bad that you can value what you truly have.

I'm ready for when it gets hard again – because it will, because that's life.

I'm ready to be the man my father knew.

And as I stand here holding my son, watching my wife push my daughter on the swings across from our bakery, I see it all so clearly now. I see the dream I had all those years ago on these very swings. I know now that life isn't a game.

Life is simple. Life is living.


End file.
